


Bright Lights And Whiskey Kisses

by WetSammyWinchester



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Hurt Jared, M/M, Protective Jensen, Speakeasies, Supernatural and J2 Big Bang Challenge, Supernatural and J2 Big Bang Challenge 2016, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When alcohol is outlawed during Prohibition, speakeasies crop up all over New York City and people can't get enough of drinking, dancing and live music. Jared's editor at the newspaper assigns the naive young reporter to write reviews of the popular but illegal nightclubs, but he has no idea what he's in for. Meeting Jensen, a bootlegger with a secret, only complicates the situation even more as Jared learns that underneath all the glitter and fun of the speakeasies lies the stink and violence of organized crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [SPN_J2_BigBang 2016 Art Masterpost: Bright Lights and Whiskey Kisses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476276) by [Mangacat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangacat/pseuds/Mangacat). 



> Thanks to my amazing artist [mangacat201](http://mangacat201.livejournal.com/97886.html) for all her work on this. I wanted the feel of the fic to be like an classic Hollywood movie and [ her art ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7476276)was perfect! Thanks also my beta [anotherwinchesterfangirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherwinchesterfangirl/pseuds/anotherwinchesterfangirl) and to castielstarr for giving their thoughts and ideas. I couldn't have done this without them!

  
[](http://wetsammywinchester.tumblr.com/private/image/163417767862/tumblr_otnwr8O57l1rntbjn)

[](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/mangacat201/16816974/12151/12151_600.jpg)

The front of the building was nothing special, just plain white granite walls and a small green awning. As Jared stood in front of the club's entrance, he thought it could have belonged to any one of a dozen respectable but boring private men's clubs on the lower East side. Yet here, hiding in plain sight, was Manhattan's most famous speakeasy.

Snowflakes fell silently as he hesitated, biting his lower lip, but the snow and cold didn't seem to stop a string of New York's finest society as they tucked under that canopy, in discrete groups of twos and threes, making their way through the front doors of the club. 

Despite the chill Jared's palms were slick with sweat, and he rubbed them on his pant legs while glancing nervously up and down the street. JD had insisted that there was nothing illegal about what he was about to do. Well, at least until he took the first drink anyways. 

The reporter studied the faces of the passing pedestrians to see if any of them looked like cops or Treasury agents, which was a laugh, of course, since he had never met either of those in the six months that he’d lived here. Still, his mind insisted that an undercover cop would stand out. Something in their stance, maybe a lack of reaction on their face, or he would see it in their shoes. Jared imagined that they wore sensible shoes given the job.

Instead, he found himself watching a ridiculously good-looking man walk up in a beautiful camel coat with a double-breasted grey suit underneath. The guy removed his fedora, showing slicked back hair with a sharp part and intense green eyes that brightened up when he saw Jared staring. He gave a wink as he approached the club’s doorman before disappearing out of view. Well, if anything, that wink was worth taking the first step inside The Emperor Club.

Blowing out a deep breath and watching it swirl in a white fog in front of him, Jared shook the snow out of his hair and stepped up to the large wooden door. There was no sign or address, just a big, muscular guy at the door. Based on the bulge under the left side of his suit jacket, Jared guessed he was armed and, based on the look on his face, he wouldn't hesitate to shoot.

"Can I help you?" 

"Swordfish." When JD told him that he needed a password to get in, Jared laughed, thinking his editor was trying to embarrass him. It was a ridiculous safety measure given anyone could find out what the password was, but the reporter assumed that it stopped the unknowing bystander from wandering in. The doorman didn't bat an eye as he waved Jared quickly into the club.

Beyond the entrance, the temperature of the club rose twenty degrees and the smell was an odd combination of wet wool and hair product. A queue had formed at the club's coat check where people stopped to pull off their grey winter coats and felt hats, handing them to a beautiful young girl in a silver sequin headband behind the counter.

Jared couldn't help but think of exotic birds molting their dark winter plumage to emerge in the mating season of spring, women in their jewel-toned silk dresses with ruffles or fringe and feathered clips to hold back their hair, or men in their red paisley silk ties with matching pocket squares tucked in with gold watch chains.

As he handed his simple tweed coat to the girl, Jared said good evening with a big smile and good manners, like his mother taught him, but the girl dispensed little interest and a small perfunctory cloakroom ticket. He looked down at his cheap blue suit and ran a hand through his unfashionably long hair — now curling up at the ends from the dampness of the snow — and realized how out of his depth he was with this stylish crowd. 

Turning away from the coat check and stepping into the club, Jared was amazed. If the patrons looked like exotic birds, then The Emperor Club must be their gilded cage.

The reporter realized that he’d misjudged the size and extravagance of the place from the outside. There was a gleaming wooden dance floor in the center with an elevated bandstand at the front with a shiny black grand piano as its centerpiece. Matching lacquered podiums stood in front of each musician with the initials EC emblazoned on the front and lighted white curtains behind the stage filled the space with a golden glow. The first raised platform contained a ring of elegant tables surrounding the dance floor on three sides and the top platform was ringed by u-shaped, crimson velvet booths with waiter service for the richest patrons.

"You must be Jared," a beautiful redhead said as she popped up next to him, placing her hand on his sleeve. The silver shine of her silk dress matched the coat check girl's, but the deep v neckline and the curves of her full figure reminded Jared of a Vargas covergirl painting come to life.

"I am. Do we know each other?" he responded politely.

"Not yet, but we will, sugar. I'm Danneel, one of the hostesses here, but you can call me Dani. Boss asked me to keep an eye out for you and show you around.” She unapologetically looked him over from head to toe, and Jared blushed to the roots of his dark brown hair.

“JD said he was sending over one of his reporters and that you'd be real tall, but he didn't say you would be such a dollface. C'mon, honey, let's get you a drink." She grabbed his elbow, and he followed her sparkling path to the bar like a fish to a lure. “You look like you could use it.”

JD was sure that reviewing New York's speakeasies was a great idea, but Jared had his doubts. When he showed up for his first day of work at _New York Titan_ last month, he expected to be fetching coffee and tuna fish sandwiches, maybe writing obits of semi-famous businessmen for its back section. But once JD got a whiff of Jared's Midwestern naiveté and his tall good looks, an idea was born—his new cub reporter could write up reviews of the illicit clubs and bars, not from a tainted local's perspective, but from someone who was still awestruck by the Big Apple.

Jared wondered what his father, a pastor back in Kansas, might say about his son visiting some of the most notorious and illegal drinking establishments in the city. He was already enough of a black sheep as a writer — showing no interest in being a clerk or joining the clergy — but drinking alcohol as well? He could hear the sermons in his head as if he were still seated at the Padalecki dining room table in Lawrence.

The morality of drinking was one thing. The legality was another thing altogether. How the police and Treasury department viewed the newspaper's promotion and review of the speakeasies was a grey question. It wasn't illegal to write about what happened in the clubs, but it was just adjacent to illegal not to report what you saw there to the cops. 

To offer some protection to his nervous young reporter, JD insisted that the articles be published under a pen name. If the stories were written anonymously, there would be no way to prove who was participating in the clubs' activities or talking to the owners and service people who were their sources. The _New Yorker_ had Lois Long writing under the pen name of Lipstick and _Titan_ had Best Boy.

The assignment by his editor was a plum one for a writer so new to the paper and Jared jumped at it. Sure, the Best Boy name made him cringe, and he begged JD to change it, but the editor seemed amused every time he said it out loud and Jared only wanted to keep his boss happy.

Dani tacked and jibed through the crowd dragging Jared in her wake, pulling up to the crowded wooden bar where she flagged the burly bartender with their order. Jared was a big guy, but this bartender was shaped like a keg of beer on legs — broad chested with his shirt sleeves rolled up and a white dish towel tucked into the front of his pants. 

"Hey, Walter, two whiskeys and make them the good stuff. Jared here is writing a review of the Penguin for Titan so we all need to be on our best behavior." She gave a wink that showed she had no intention of following her own advice.

"The Penguin?" Jared cocked an eyebrow at her.

"That's a little nickname employees have for The Emperor Club." Walter said as he pulled two highball glasses from under the counter and uncorked a clear, unlabelled bottle, pouring two fingers of the amber liquid into each glass. As Jared reached for one of them, a hand stopped him.

"That's what you're going to give him? C'mon, Walt. Don't be a putz. I thought Dani said you wanted to impress this guy. Give him some of the good stuff I just brought in yesterday." 

Jared turned to look at the guy standing next to him at the bar, whose hand still rested heavy and warm on his forearm. It was the same man he saw out on the street, except now he could see how his eyes were as the same clear green as a soda bottle. Staring at the man’s long eyelashes and perfect cheekbones, Jared could believe that this guy was fresh off the train from Hollywood rather than a bootlegger, smuggling whiskey under cover of the night along the back roads of Pennsylvania and West Virginia.

Mr. Hollywood maintained his grip on Jared’s forearm while motioning to Walt with the fingers of his other hand for the other bottle. The bartender rolled his eyes, but handed it over and set another two glasses on the bar. As the guy removed his hand to pour the drink, the sudden loss of weight and warmth from the man's hand caused Jared's mind to race more than it should have for such brief contact.

"Waste not, want not, boys. I'll take both of these." Dani piped up, swooping in on the first two glasses.

The man handed one of the new glasses to Jared. "Try this. I brought it in from a connection I have in Tennessee. Best whiskey anywhere."

Jared hesitated for a moment. Coming of age in a conservative family during Prohibition meant he didn't have much experience with drinking — a fact that the reporter hadn't shared with his new editor when the assignment came up. He took a sip of the amber liquid and was surprised at the smoothness of the alcohol and the smokiness it left on his tongue.

Speakeasies started popping up in New York before the ink on the Volstead Act was even dry. Bootleggers and rumrunners began to smuggle illegal booze across state lines to meet the demands of a dry city. The enormous thirst for better-quality alcohol at finer establishments like The Emperor meant that a bootlegger like Jensen could make some serious coin for the risks he took. That would certainly explain the expensive camel coat and three-piece suit that the man wore and the way it hung perfectly tailored off his shoulders.

Stories told about these infamous men turned them into either the equivalent of Robin Hood or a modern day pirate, depending on which way you looked at it. Studying the bootlegger next to him, Jared thought again how he looked more like a leading man on the silver screen than a career criminal leading law enforcement on a wild goose chase. 

Jensen took a good pull of the whiskey, and Jared couldn't resist watching the movement of his throat as he swallowed, the shadow of scruff on his jawline, and the way his tongue snaked out to lick off the last bit of whiskey from full lips that came together in a perfect Cupid's bow.

It was his first drink of the night and Jared was already in over his head. Someone was tugging on his sleeve, bringing him out of his daydream about soft lips and rough beard burn.

"C'mon, dollface, I reserved a table for us down front, so you can see all the action. I hope you like dancing." Dani set her glass back on the bar and yanked on Jared's arm while scooping up the second shot for the trip to their table.

"Wait. What's your name?" Jared turned back around and grabbed the bootlegger's sleeve before he could walk away. Of all the elegant and sparkling people in the club that night, this man outshone them all.

"I'm Jensen." The man gave a cocky smile and clinked the reporter's glass with his own.

"Thanks for the drink. Perhaps I'll see you around."

\---

After two more whiskeys, Dani switched them to champagne. 

Jared’s experience drinking wine was limited to a glass of sweet white wine once at dinner when he was younger. His grandfather showed up at their door with a bottle of Riesling tucked under his arm, celebrating the end of the Great War, and poured his grandsons a little taste. Jared's father glowered at him across the dining room table, but it was such a joyous day that his grandfather didn't care.

Drinking champagne at The Emperor Club was as different from that bottle of German white as a dragonfly was to a bumblebee. It was dry and light, and tickled his nose as it went down. Two glasses of bubbly later, he was feeling warm and loose as he sat at the front row table with Dani. 

Together, they talked about living in the city and Dani knew all the spots to go to, like the observation deck on the new Empire State Building or the best place to stand during the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade to watch the giant balloon floats go by. She also helped Jared rethink his fear of the underground subway that he had refused to try. He had been walking everywhere in the weeks since he came to New York, because he couldn’t face the complicated maps, the confined darkness of the tunnels or the brusque nature of some of the people heading down the steps at the subway entrance. She patiently explained how to navigate the different lines, describing enthusiastically all the new areas of the city he could finally explore. 

After an hour of talking and drinking, the two sat quietly watching the band play and couples dance by their table. 

One couple in particular caught his attention as they took to the dance floor. Jensen appeared in front of them, leading a young blonde in her 20s onto the floor, looking as perfect as if a spotlight followed them whenever they went. Although the woman was elegant, Jensen was the more graceful dancer, guiding her through a foxtrot as her intricately waved hairstyle hugged one side of her face, the other side held back by an emerald feather dyed to match her dress. 

The color reminded him of Jensen's eyes and he wondered if the match was planned, that perhaps they knew each other and were more than dance partners. His gaze followed them around the floor, trying to catch the expression on the bootlegger’s face when he looked at the girl. Jensen threw back his head in laughter at something his partner said, and that smile was pulling at Jared’s heart, yanking him like Jensen was the world and he couldn’t resist the fall of gravity towards him.

"Boy, you got it bad, don't you?" Dani said, giving him a half smile across the table.

Jared started from his watch to look at the hostess. “What do you mean?”

"Don't worry about it, Jared. Trust me. Everyone has it bad for Jensen when they first meet him, but they get over it eventually."

"Huh. What happens after you get to know him?" Jared took another swig of his champagne to cover up his interest in her response.

"Oh, honey, nobody really gets to know Jensen. He's a real heartbreaker that way. Trust me, I know." Dani stood up and extended her hand to Jared. "Now, Legs, I think you promised me a dance."

"No. Absolutely not." 

While he was appreciative to the redhead for all she had done, explaining about how the speakeasy worked and details about the band that was playing, dancing was a whole other ball of wax. Dani looked out at the dancers again and sunk her chin into the palm of her hand with a sigh, like a child looking in the windows of a candy store, and Jared had to give in.

"Okay, just this once because you got me drunk. It’s your own fault if I step all over your feet in front of everyone here," he joked and took her hand. 

He was disappointed to see Jensen leave the floor, walking his partner back to a table and kissing her hand. While the woman’s eyes lingered on Jensen, the much older man she was with stood up to shake hands with him with a familiarity that spoke to business acquaintances more than friends. Now, as Jared and Dani danced to the swing tune the band started to play, he glanced up at Jensen, leaning against the end of the bar. The bootlegger’s eyes seemed to follow Jared and Dani wherever they went.

As a child, Jared had shared a love of the movies with his aunt, who was his mother’s twin sister. After his mom passed away, he and Aunt Samantha would go to afternoon matinees every Sunday. She would watch the romantic couples on the screen, and whisper to Jared, “Look, honey, they are made for each other. No one else in the world exists for them because they’re soulmates. Someday you’ll find a love like that.”

Tonight, he felt that electric connection with Jensen, a man he just met, and all the sparkling lights and champagne mixed with jazz music were just backdrop for a story that had yet to unfold. 

Jared shook his head. While his aunt fed him all these romantic notions, he needed to remind himself that this was real life, not the movies. This guy was not only out of his league, he was a criminal who was interested in something from Jared all right, but it wasn't romance and certainly wouldn't end in a relationship.

It must be the champagne making him mawkish, and he shook it off as he and Dani spun around on the dance floor. When he snuck a look up at the speakeasy bar again, Jensen was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Jared sat at his desk in the newsroom the next day, face plastered to the top of a stack of papers in front of him. The sun coming in the window was a personal offense to his well being, so he kept his eyes screwed shut. Walking into the office this morning hadn't seemed so bad a few hours ago, but that he was before he realized that he was still drunk from the night before.

No one told him that champagne hangovers were the worst. All that sweet bubbly that tasted so good last night, now made him feel like someone took a sledgehammer to the space between his eyes this morning. Chad, the sports reporter who shared the desk across from him, thought it was hilarious to watch Jared try to finish his story. He had to wonder if providing this kind of entertainment to the rest of the newsroom was all part of JD's plan in the first place. 

"Brother, you still look like shit and you’ve been here for six hours. Go home."

Jared pulled his head up to answer and his stomach rolled over at the small change in altitude. He bolted out of the newsroom for the second time that day, as Chad sat at his desk doubled over in laughter. As Jared kneeled over the toilet in the small bathroom stall, he tried to remember why he was friends with the obnoxious blond. The guy made terrible jokes and couldn't write his way out of a paper bag, but Chad had this way of getting under his skin. The two of them bonded over being the youngest reporters in the bullpen and sharing the honor of being the biggest disappointment in their fathers' lives. 

And underneath all that snark, Chad had a heart of gold. Maybe. Probably. Most likely. Gripping the porcelain lid of the toilet right now, Jared wasn't so sure.

He looked in the small mirror and wiped his mouth with one of the towels before heading back to the bullpen — all he could think about was how to get through today one moment at a time. 

As he curled back into the fetal position around the edge of his desk, a huge hand clapped him on the back, making the bile rise in his stomach one more time. He was lucky there was nothing else in his stomach to bring up.

"Good job on the story, Jared. That's exactly what I wanted to see."

Jared cracked his eyes open at the deep bass voice and looked up at the man who was beaming down at him. JD, the managing editor for _Titan_ , could smile with the dimples of an angel and give his reporters this affectionate look like a father who wanted all his children to do well, but only an idiot would be sucked into thinking JD was soft. The forty-year-old was every inch a hard-boiled newsman and didn't put up with anyone's bullshit. You had to earn his praise.

"Really, you thought it was good?"

"I thought it was terrific, and I can't wait to see your next one. We'll run this one today under the Best Boy byline and keep space in the Friday edition for your next one. How do you feel about hitting The Bijoux on Thursday, kid?" 

Another hard clap on the back from the editor made Jared's eyes feel like exploding like a watermelon under a sledgehammer.

"First off, JD, I'm not a kid so stop calling me that. Second, my stomach may not let me go out again this week."

A petite brunette seated at a desk across the aisle snorted. "JD, if Jared can't handle his liquor, I would be more than glad to take his place. You know I could do it and it would sure beat writing up wedding announcements." Her sweet smile and girlish appearance didn't hide the iron in her voice.

"Genevieve, you know that's not going to happen. No way I send you out to those kind of clubs by yourself." JD had a good heart and a chivalrous nature when it came to women, but Jared thought Gen could probably drink him under the table, a fact he wasn't going to mention to their boss.

Chad chimed in. "Hell, boss, you know that I can hold my liquor and charm the ladies, which are two things my colleague seems unable to do."

"Yeah, well, at least he can write a story, Murray," JD retorted. "You're lucky to be working the sports beat here. Besides, a little hangover isn't going to kill our boy. Maybe it will help to grow a few hairs on his chest. God knows, he’s too pretty for his own good."

Before Jared's fuzzy mind could catch up and respond to his boss's insults to his masculinity, JD plopped a paper bag on the top of his desk and the most amazing smell came from inside. Jared opened the top to see a hot pastrami sandwich from Mort's Deli across the street. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to throw up or rip the bag apart to get to the sandwich

"Trust me, kid, nothing better than greasy food for a hangover. Eat up and then get out of here early if you want. Get some rest for tomorrow."

"Not a kid," Jared shouted to his editor's retreating back as Gen rolled her eyes and Chad cackled, turning back to his typewriter to struggle through the sports scores.

\---

Pastrami and black coffee did wonders for Jared's headache. The grease and the bread of the sandwich made him feel like he could finally stand up and leave the building. As twilight started to change the city skyline from blue to violet, he felt almost normal walking the ten blocks back home. As he approached the brownstone stoop, he once again thanked his lucky stars for his Aunt Samantha. 

When he decided to move to New York, Jared looked up his mother’s twin sister living on the West Side. The divide between his mom’s sister and Jared’s father had been sizable before she left Kansas, with the pastor unable to understand why a woman would chose to work at the university library instead of making an effort to find a husband.

Samantha loved to write and would send in stories and articles as part of any number of writing contests with magazines and newspapers.She was content with her small victories and her world at the library.

Until one day, a charming novelist came to town on a lecture tour to promote his book and she was swept off her feet. After only two days together, Samantha packed all of her belongings and writing journals in two small bags, leaving the Kansas wheat fields behind to follow him to the big city. 

Despite his father's dire warnings of destitution and prostitution, his aunt married her progressive Prince Charming and became a successful writer in her own right, penning a series of lovely books about an unmarried female protagonist and her family, that caused one literary journal to call her America's answer to Jane Austen. 

Samantha struggled to find her place in New York City even with the critical acclaim. The pace was fast and the people could be hard. She told Jared the story of meeting her idol Dorothy Parker once after submitting a piece to _The New Yorker,_ but the author was was a little too vicious in her comments and critique. 

His aunt always joked that she and Jared were so much alike—strong personalities, but as soft as marshmallow on the inside.

Unfortunately for Samantha, it turned out that the fairy tale marriage lasted only a few years. The dashing uncle that Jared never had a chance to meet died of a heart attack six months before he moved to New York. 

When Jared knocked on her door, she invited him to stay with her, and when he was looking for work as a reporter or writer, she set him up on an interview with her husband's friend JD in the first week. To watch the two of them talk so animatedly together, he had hoped that Samantha and JD would connect somehow and become more than friends. However, when her latest book became a critical success, the publisher set her up with an European tour that would take her away for several months. 

All his aunt asked when she left was that Jared take care of the brownstone and her little English bulldog, Hemingway. Hem seemed suspicious of the large man during the first few days — hiding behind Samantha's legs, his eyes following Jared wherever he went — but soon the furry little fireplug followed Jared from room to room. With Samantha’s departure, the two bonded over empty rooms, short walks and quiet dinners, with most evenings being spent with Jared curled up on a big leather wing chair with one of the books from his aunt and uncle's extensive library and Hem tucked up by his side.

It was a quiet life now that his aunt was gone, although occasionally Chad would try to drag him out. He appreciated his friend’s enthusiastic and always good-hearted efforts to brighten up Jared’s quiet life. Just not tonight.

As Jared started to climb up the steps to the brownstone, his eye was drawn to a tall figure walking on the sidewalk halfway down the block. A brown center-cut fedora covered the man’s light brown hair, but even from a quarter of a block away, he recognized Jensen’s broad shoulders and well-cut suit. Putting the house key back in his pocket, Jared hurried down the steps to follow. 

Jensen turned in about three buildings down from the brownstone and proceeded to duck into the basement apartment under the stoop, where a baroque wrought-iron gate hung open and the oak door beyond was propped open by a chair. Jared stood on the sidewalk unsure about his next move when he heard jazz music and laughter coming from the doorway and couldn't resist moving closer.

An attractive brunette woman with sharp brown eyes and a familiar face came out and caught him lurking on the sidewalk.

"Well, sweetheart, we're not officially open yet, but don’t stand out on the sidewalk gawking. Come on in." She appraised his broad shoulders, nodding in the direction of several crates stacked against the wall, marked fragile on each side. "Maybe you could help me carrying these in?”

"Yes, ma'am." Jared grabbed two off the top and ducked inside the doorway behind her.

The basement apartment was converted into the smallest bar Jared had ever seen. What had been a studio now had a wooden bar with barstools running along one side and five sets of bistro tables and chairs on the other. Along the far wall was an Empire style couch upholstered in cerulean velvet with a potted palm next to it. A record featuring some lively jazz vocalist played in the background. Jared had heard about the hundreds of little neighborhood speakeasies popping up all over New York, but had never seen one, let alone imagined that there was one on his block.

"So, what do you think?" the woman said as she started to pull glassware from one of the crates, setting them on the glossy bar top.

"I had no idea this was here," Jared took in the antique mirror behind the bar, surrounded by framed photos of what appeared to be glamorous actors and famous people.

"That's the idea," she laughed. "That way the Treasury agents never find you." She wiped the dust from her hands and extended one. "I'm Sam Ferris, owner of the latest and greatest little speakeasy in Manhattan."

As he shook her hand, Jared looked back at one of the framed photos above the bar showing a blonde woman with Jean Harlow-style waves in her hair, looking back over her shoulder. It was obviously a headshot and not so obviously of the woman in front of him. 

"Wait, Sam Ferris from the movie Jeanette? I can't believe I didn't recognize you—I thought you were blonde like your character. Wow, it's an honor. My aunt and I watched all your movies in the theater. Her name is Samantha Smith, and we live just down the block. Maybe you know her?" He sat down on one of the oak stools, and couldn't help the big grin on his face.

Sam considered him for a moment before releasing his hand. "Aren’t you just the cutest thing? Ok, between those big eyes and dimples for days, you make me feel like a dirty old lady." 

She looked fondly over her shoulder at the framed headshot and smiled wryly. "Acting was something I did a long time ago. So, does your aunt still like to go to the movies?"

"I think so. She left for Europe shortly after I arrived in New York. Between my job and the move here, I haven't taken the time to go myself."

"Well, sweetie, if you ever want to go and your aunt isn’t around, give me a ring. I may not be a star anymore, but I’m still a fan."

A door opened noisily at the back of the bar and Jensen stepped through, smiling over at the actress behind the bar. "Sam, thanks for letting me use the toilet. Now, where are those boxes you need..." 

His words dropped off when he noticed Jared sitting at the bar and his face went blank. "What are you doing here?"

The abrupt change in Jensen's demeanor and the reminder that Jared had stalked and followed this man here had the younger man stuttering. "I.. I was, well, just walking by and heard the music."

"Jensen, this sweet boy was kind enough to help me carry those boxes in right away, unlike another man I know who only uses me for the facilities." She narrowed her eyes good-naturedly at Jensen before going behind the bar and holding up a half-full bottle of what appeared to be scotch. "How about a drink to christen my new venture?" 

While the pastrami helped earlier, Jared's stomach was still pretty raw from last night's whiskey and champagne. "Would it be alright if I got a Coca-Cola?"

"Of course, honey." She pulled out a small, green glass bottle for him and set it on the bar before pouring two fingers each in glasses for herself and Jensen.

Jensen glanced at the open door as if considering an escape, but instead settled on the bar stool next to Jared, bumping his elbow with the motion. Between the remnant of the hangover and his proximity to the bootlegger, whatever saliva was in Jared's mouth dried up and he took a long swig of his Coke.

"So, how was The Penguin last night? You know, Sam, Jared here writes reviews for New York Titan and covers all the speakeasies. Maybe he could write up something on your place?" Jensen winked at the former actress before tossing back his whiskey. 

"JD ran the piece in today's paper. He seemed happy with it, so I guess it's what I'll be doing for the next month or so." 

Sam took hold of Jared's hand on the bar, meeting his eyes. "Wait, so you're the reporter that wrote the piece in today's edition? You're Best Boy? Well, everyone's talking about it and I bet all those club owners are calling JD Morgan, dying to get their own reviews. Well, I had no idea that I was getting help carrying my boxes from a mysterious celebrity."

Her words of praise made him squirm a little, wishing his aunt was here to see his first big piece. The younger man's cheeks burned at the mention of that damn pen name again and he waited for some snarky comment from the bootlegger. 

Jensen leaned into Jared's space even more and wiggled his eyebrows. "So, did Dani show you some hospitality last night?"

Jared chose to ignore the comment about Dani. She spent all night drinking and dancing with him, even though there were plenty of men trying to get the redhead's attention. He already thought of her as a friend.

"Sam, what is that?" Jared pointed behind her at a shiny, aluminum box, that was the size of a large hat box. Based on the vinyl album sitting on the top, it was a record player. His aunt had a large wooden cabinet that contained her gramophone, but he had never seen such a small one before.

Sam smiled as she turned to look where he was pointing. "Jared, meet my pride and joy. This baby is a portable phonograph, can you imagine? I bought it last year to celebrate the last movie I made, and thought it might come in handy down here at the bar since we don't have any space for a real band."

She opened up the bar cabinet below the record player and pulled out another 78 record, blowing dust off the disc and placing it on the turntable. A familiar trombone intro came out of the little speaker, filling Sam’s basement with its low and soulful tones.

"Duke Ellington," she said to Jared. "Now, he's the King of Jazz. Not that Paul Whiteman that's so popular right now. Trust me, fifty years from now, no one will remember him."

Jared nodded, although he didn't know anything about this style of music. He took another sip of his Coke and then closed his eyes, letting the swell of the orchestra's sound wash over him as trumpets joined in and Duke began his solo. The sound was hypnotic, relaxing, and he immersed himself. 

After a few minutes, he realized that his eyes were still shut and opened them, as he flashed back on his father's words about indulgent enjoyment. The pastor had strong beliefs about how music and art were just the avoidance of hard work. Being a writer was just a step up from the bottom of the social ladder in his father’s opinion.

As his eyes fluttered opened, his first sight was Jensen's own green eyes, staring him down. By the intensity of that look, Jared wondered what he had done wrong, perhaps embarrassing himself by humming along to the song. Jensen lifted his shot glass up, never breaking that stare between them, and made quick work of his whiskey. 

Under the other man's scrutiny, Jared felt his cheeks flush again. It was an irritating reaction, one that he couldn't control. People always thought he was so much younger than his years, and blushing like a boy in puberty in front of a gorgeous man didn't help matters. Jared looked away before Jensen could see it and turned his attention to Sam.

"If you like jazz and blues, Sam, maybe you should come with me tomorrow night. I'm going to The Bijoux club. Supposed to be a great band playing that night. What do you say?” Jared purposefully unleashed the dimples at her this time, hoping he could enlist someone to join him for the night who wasn’t Chad.

The bootlegger interrupted before she could answer. "What is your editor thinking? No, I really want to know. Because this guy must be an idiot sending someone like you into places like that. I mean The Emperor Club is one thing, but setting you up at The Bijoux with Mark Sheppard? That's asking for trouble. I mean look at your face, you don't belong there.”

"Jensen!" Sam turned dark as a thundercloud, directing the storm at Jensen's sudden bluntness.

Jared didn't know what he had done to this guy to irritate him, or maybe Jensen could sense the bullshit behind the thin explanation of his presence here. The coincidence of running into Jared twice in two days was crazy, as well as the thought that a guy like Jensen might be interested in him.

It was obvious to everyone with a pair of eyes that Jared didn't belong with the kind of crowd that hung out at The Emperor. This bootlegger, with his expensive suit and his sharp haircut, fit in so well with all those beautiful, sophisticated people, while he was just an awkward 23-year-old nobody from Kansas.

Jared set the Coke bottle on the polished bar and stumbled up from the stool.

"Hey, Sam, thanks for the soda. It was great meeting you, and I'll let my aunt know that we met. Your place is going to be beautiful when it opens."

Sam's face crumpled in concern for him at the change in his expression. Jared's aunt used to look at him that way, when he was little, as if he was somehow delicate like a china cup, something that would shatter beyond repair at the first sign of pressure. Maybe she was right.

Between Sam's mothering and Jensen's condescension, it was too much and he pushed away from the bar, hustling towards the door with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket.

"Jared, wait, where are you going?" Jensen called out as the door banged shut behind him. 

He ran out from under the stoop and covered the half-block back to his aunt's brownstone with his long strides and took the steps up to the door two at a time, pulling his house key from the front pocket of his pants. His head was buzzing with embarrassment and Jared couldn't focus on anything else but slipping his key in the lock and getting inside. 

This whole conversation brought up insecurities he thought he left behind at home. His brothers and father were all men cut of the same cloth, stoic and rigid in their convictions, but Jared had been different. His mother had died when he was still a baby and growing up with the men in his family was like a flower trying to survive in a crack in the sidewalk. 

He made his own way but it wasn’t easy. Throughout the years, his father never asked why Jared didn't have a girlfriend and never went out on dates with the girls from his parish, as if he already knew the answer and refused to acknowledge it. 

His father also couldn't comprehend what writing meant to Jared, and how much he couldn't wait to get away from their small, protected world in the Midwest. Coming to New York and getting this dream job as a reporter meant everything to him over the past few months. And he was on track, heading in the right direction to become a good writer. Now after one night at The Emperor Club, this bootlegger -- this criminal -- made him feel like that awkward kid hiding himself away from his family in Kansas instead of a successful journalist.

As Jared went to slam the brownstone door shut behind him, a large hand held it open, fingers curling around the edge.

"Hold on just a minute." The guarded mask that Jensen normally wore dropped, and concern peeked through, as his wide green eyes searched Jared's face. "You didn't give me a chance to explain. Can we talk?" 

Jared hesitated, considered slamming the door on those stupid manicured fingers hanging on to its edge. Instead, he flung it open and Jensen pushed past him into the entryway. Jared knew this was going to be a big mistake, letting him in the door.

"What I meant to say is that you seem like a good person. That's why you don't belong there. You see all this glamor and freedom in the speakeasies, but that's only on the surface. They're corrupted and rotten from the inside by the people that run them. I know we don’t know each other well, but my business is to know people and you're so much better than that."

There was a little spot in Jared's stomach that flared up at those words, a place down deep that burned low and warm, but he wasn’t going to show Jensen that.

"How can you say that? You work with these people every day. When I talk to Sam, I don't see anything rotten in her, and I don't see that in you." Jared’s voice dropped at the last part, thinking back about how beautifully Jensen danced in the club. The older man’s genuine smile as he took a turn around the floor was something pure. Your soul doesn’t shine that bright if it’s corrupt.

Jensen rubbed along his jawline and the corner of his mouth turned up. "Me? I'm just a businessman and Sam... well, Sam is different. I grew up with her. She's a great lady. She doesn't take grief from anyone and wants everyone to have a great time in life. Believe me, I don't think there is anything wrong with people getting together and having a little fun, but Jared, that's not the problem. The people that run those big clubs are different. They're not good people, and you shouldn’t get involved with any of them."

"Well, guess I'll get another look tomorrow night when I head over to The Bijoux."

"Sheppard manages that club. He’s a piece of work." Jensen's voice tightened up and he moved closer to Jared, who backed up into the door frame between the foyer and the front drawing room.

Jared did his research. Mark Sheppard was a Scottish immigrant who had worked his way up to running one of the best clubs in the city through ruthless charm and business smarts. It was juicy background for his next piece and it sounded like the man would give him some choice quotes to use.

"Regardless, it's supposed to have the best jazz and blues music in the city."

"It does, but there's a lot underneath all of that in the clubs that Sheppard runs and the people he works for that you don't need to see." Jensen paused, breaking the direction of their conversation by reaching out to adjust one of the lapels on Jared’s suit. "You know, I watched you last night."

Jared leaned back against the door frame to his aunt's drawing room, feeling the need to step out of Jensen’s orbit before being pulled in more tightly. "You did? Why? Was my dancing that atrocious?"

"It was," Jensen laughed. "You have two left feet. No, it was something else. The look on your face as you took it all in. Like a kid on Christmas morning."

"I'm not a kid." It was as if the record player of his conversations today kept skipping back to this same conversation, and he couldn't help but sound petulant about it. "You know, I'm 23."

Jensen rolled his eyes at that. "Doesn't have to do with your age. There's something about you that makes people want to protect you or to take advantage of you. Don't be sucked in by all the glitter and buzz of these places. They're cess pools. And they will try to take advantage."

Before Jared could reply, the older man poured himself into his space like water fills a glass, pressing up against him, so there was no room left. Jensen’s lips brushed against his, then whispered in his ear, "You know, I can't decide what I want to do to you."

That voice with all its gravel and experience sent a shiver through the younger man. Jared pushed back away from the wall, grabbing that perfect face between his hands and kissing it. It was wet and messy and lacked finesse, but it was the best kiss he ever had.

As he pushed back against the older man, Jared felt something hard, but it was too high, too metallic, to be what he wanted. He reached into Jensen's jacket and his fingers felt the cold metal of a handgun. The bootlegger’s hand shot up and gripped his wrist tightly. 

"Don't touch that." He ignored Jensen's command and reached in to run his fingers along the wood grip of the gun sticking out of the shoulder holster. This was how Jensen ran his business, with gunpowder and violence. 

Guns had never been part of Jared’s world. Sure, he had been around them before, hunting rifles and shotguns mostly, but handguns were different. They were more personal and their only purpose was to kill another man, and the thought of all that power at his fingertips sent a shiver through his nerves, running down to Jared's cock. 

“Do you find much use for this in your line of business?” Jared lowered his eyes, confused by the unexpected arousal that he felt in the moment.

“I try not to.” Jensen’s hand was still wrapped around his wrist and started to rub along the soft skin on the inside of his arm. Jared felt his breath catch as if the oxygen in the small space between them was suddenly gone and he had to kiss Jensen just to steal the man’s breath away to live. Their lips locked, and the kiss was hard and full of teeth and tongue, and so different from any of the boys he kissed in college. He broke it off to look Jensen in the eyes.

"You said that you can’t decide what to do to me, Jensen. But you should know that the answer is whatever you want. You could do whatever you want to me."

Jensen leaned in and grabbed the back of Jared's head, taking control and bringing the younger man’s lips right where he wanted, the sudden movement causing Jared to open his mouth. Jensen moved in quickly to claim his tongue and his lips with sucks and bites. He wrapped his fingers around the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling Jared’s head to the side, so that he could move past the kiss to whisper in his ear.

"Fuck, Jared, you can't just say things like that. Because I will. I will do everything to you. But first, promise me you'll find a way out of going to The Bijoux tomorrow night."

"No," Jared said. "Not even if you kiss me like that again."


	3. Chapter 3

In all the ways that The Emperor Club shined and sparkled, The Bijoux was dark and smoky. None of the people there had their eye focused on the front door to see who was arriving and what they were wearing. All eyes were turned towards the stage by the dance floor, with people nodding their heads to the blues song being played by the band. It was small by comparison to The Emperor's twelve-piece orchestra and brought an intimacy to its sound, as if they were friends playing just for you.

A large bearded man, taller than Jared and infinitely more threatening, approached. "You the reporter? The boss wants to see you right now."

As the man turned on his heel, expecting immediate compliance from the reporter, Jared got a glimpse of a Smith & Wesson .38 special in a shoulder holster beneath his jacket. Looking at the weapon reminded him of Jensen's words last night and the gun he carried. These weren’t weapons that everyday New Yorkers carried, not out in public. They only belonged to the criminals and the cops. And this giant thug leading him through The Bijoux was definitely not law enforcement.

As they walked toward a row of low-backed booths along the far wall, Jared saw a sharp-dressed man in a black pin-striped suit and black shirt sitting with his back to the corner of the largest booth. The only spot of color he wore was the red silk tie around his neck. 

"You must be Mr. Sheppard. I'm Jared from New York Titan." He extended his hand in polite greeting, which was returned by an assessing look from head to toe. The seated man eventually returned the gesture and indicated the far side of the banquette.

"Please, sit down and join me. I wasn't expecting someone so... young. Maybe a grizzled, old newshawk, but not you." Sheppard's accent was a surprise. New York was a melting pot of ethnicities and languages, but unless you were Andrew Carnegie, most people with an accent like that worked the docks or back alleys, not running a fancy club.

Sheppard waved his finger at the hulking man who stood at his side, without taking his eyes from Jared's face. The gangster leaned in, the better to hear his boss over the music.

"A drink for our fresh-faced friend here. Two highballs, chipped ice, not cubed. So, you're Best Boy?" The club owner's eyebrow quirked up at the moniker.

Jared blushed. "The pseudonym wasn't my idea. That was my editor. It protects me from going to jail for writing about this. It also protects my sources, like yourself."

"There are much more interesting reasons to go to jail, right? My mother always said that everyone has a little darkness inside of them and the potential to be a criminal. Me? I choose the elegance of running an illegal club. But you? What kind of criminal would you be? Certainly not a violent one, because despite your height and the size of your equipment, it’s obvious that you're a bit of a momma’s boy. Maybe you could be a flimflam, bilking young heiresses out of their money with those sweet puppy dog eyes?"

Jared crooked up the corner of his mouth in a nervous smile at the man’s flirtatious expositions, but was grateful when the drinks arrived. Jared took a long cool draw off of his whiskey and ginger beer, mostly to avoid the club manager's stare and any more comments about his manhood. Being in the crowded, smoky club even for a few minutes made Jared begin to sweat inside of his blue suit and he felt a trickle of perspiration run down his temple and he wanted to run the cool glass along his damp hairline. He saw Sheppard ogle the sweat on his face and thought twice about calling even more attention to it.

"Would it be alright if I took off my suit coat?" He said, already peeling it off. Jared wore a matching vest underneath like the other men, which was fashionable, but stifling for someone who was prone to overheating in the best of circumstances. When the air hit his shirt sleeves, it was a relief. 

He swallowed another icy bump of the highball and watched Sheppard eyeing him again, inscrutable in his intent. 

Jared looked away and scanned the crowd through the dim lighting and thought how different it was from The Emperor. Rather than a sea of bright eyes tracking all the other club goers, judging their outfits, their hairstyles or who they choose as company, the audience at The Bijoux was more subdued with their focus on the singer and musicians on the stage, or some who were huddled in dark corners with their partners exchanging confidences and stolen kisses. 

Jared turned around in his seat to look at the singer on stage, her dark skin shining under the spotlight, offset by a beautiful maroon dress, brown hair carefully styled in waves pulled back in an elaborate updo. It wasn't her looks that captured the crowd though, but her smooth and melancholy voice which didn't need a microphone to fill the small club with sound or to move the listeners. 

"She's amazing, isn't she?" Sheppard drew Jared's attention back to him at their table. "You won't find that kind of talent at The Penguin. It's why I built this club, for music lovers, not for social vultures, and I pay my bands a decent wage to get them here. So, my young friend, what do you need from me? And how do we secure an excellent review from your paper? I don't care so much myself. My club is going to bring in people who love music no matter what, but my business partner is another story. She wants the paper to write something legitimate about us to hang her hat on. Oh, and she doesn't like to be surprised."

Jared shrugged, unwilling to share his thoughts with the man. One of the rules of journalism was never to be guided by the subject of an article. He needed to be objective and while these speakeasy pieces were pure fluff, he could at least report what he saw and felt without interference.

Another round of highballs arrived at the table and Jared downed the cool drink quickly. Over Sheppard’s shoulder, his eyes were drawn to the soft yellow glow of the lights over the bar, where he could see a beautiful, well-dressed man standing there, crinkling up his eyes in laughter at something the bartender said. 

Jensen. It was as if the rest of the room fell away as he looked at the bootlegger. What was he doing here in the very club that he clearly warned Jared to stay away from? Jensen left Jared’s place last night quickly after their kiss, talking about some important business he had to tend to, and Jared hid his disappointment as he watched from the stoop when Jensen walked off down the street.

And now, the man was here. As the bartender continued on with his story, gesturing with his big hands, Jensen shook his head in agreement, his laughter reaching Jared’s ears as he raised a shot glass to his lips once more. Jared was caught up in staring at those lips that he was kissing just the night before. 

As Jensen set his glass down on the counter, he looked up and met Jared's eyes. The bootlegger's smile waned and his expression became wary as he gave Jared a nod, indicating the back room of the bar behind him and turned away.

"Is something wrong?" Sheppard looked concerned as Jared threw back the rest of his drink and stood up.

"No, nothing wrong. I just see someone I know. Will you excuse me?"

He dodged through the crowd, trailing fifteen feet behind Jensen and watching as he pushed aside a blood-red velvet curtain that led to the bathrooms and the exit beyond.

When Jared pushed the heavy panel aside, a hand grabbed his elbow and pulled him forcefully into the darkness on the other side, slamming his back against the hard wooden paneling.

"How did I know that I would find you here?" Jensen's grip on his arm was like iron and his raspy voice hissed low in Jared's ear. "Are you always this stubborn and irresponsible, or is it just with me?"

"Irresponsible? That's rich coming from a bootlegger, Jensen. I'm just doing my job and as far as I know, I'm the only one in this entire place with a job that is actually legal." He brought his hand up to push the man's arm away, and instead found himself resting it on one of the man’s broad pecs, his fingers dancing nervously along his dress shirt and jacket.

The proximity to Jensen and the smell of his Ivory soap stirred something inside Jared, and he had this odd thought of doing laundry for Jensen and ironing his shirts. Something about the man kept dredging up all of this romantic, domestic happily-ever-after crap in Jared’s mind. He had never fallen this quickly for anyone.

"Why are you so concerned anyway?" Jared asked as the singing stopped in the other room and people started pouring out of the main room through the curtain in a panic, heading towards the alleyway exit, like a herd of cattle trying to enter a single stall.

Jensen pulled the curtain aside, and the two of them looked out into the club’s main room where Jared could see several policemen at the entrance, along with a tall man in a fedora and trench coat hefting an ax across his shoulder, and now addressing the club goers.

"BY ORDER OF THE U.S. TREASURY DEPARTMENT, AND THE VOLSTEAD ACT, THIS ESTABLISHMENT IS NOW CLOSED. ANYONE CAUGHT DRINKING OR ENGAGED IN ANY OTHER ILLEGAL ACT WILL BE ARRESTED."

"Shit, we need to get out of here now," Jensen exclaimed, pulling Jared along by the wrist towards the exit door. Jared allowed himself to be lead, joining in the flow of patrons fleeing the club. Opening the back door, cold air hit his system like a shock after the heated confines of the bar. Most of the club goers ran to the right down the alley, heading for the open street at the end. Jensen pulled Jared away from the crowd and deeper into the alley on the left.

"Wait, where are you going?" Jared scrunched up his face in confusion, as they ran further back along the dark brick walls, passing stacks of empty wooden crates and other piles of trash. "Jensen, we need to get out of here."

"Trust me, ok? Police and Treasury agents will be waiting out on the street and will snatch up anybody leaving. We need to find a spot to lay low for a little bit." Jensen stopped to look at back doors to the shops lining the alley, trying each door in turn, jiggling the locked handles. 

Jared stood behind him confused. "They don't care about us, they're just here for the club and the booze. We could walk right out the front."

Jensen stopped at the fifth door down and turned around to look at the younger man in frustration. 

"Jared, I know you're a bright kid. Think about it for a minute. I smuggle booze into the city's clubs and you work for a major newspaper that has criticized the effects of prohibition. The cops would love to arrest us and put both of our mug shots on display. The only people that walk out of raids like this are the rich and the powerful. We are neither of those."

Jared never thought about the stance the newspaper took or its political implications. No wonder JD loved the idea of covering the speakeasies and showcasing the lifestyle they represented, convincing voters that prohibition was a terrible mistake. Of course, flaunting illegal activities in the face of hypocritical politicians probably didn't win you points with corrupt law enforcement officers in New York.

The fourth door Jensen tried popped open when he threw his weight against it and stepped through. 

"I don't know, Jen, this is breaking and entering..."

Behind him, voices of several police officers floated down the dark alley behind the club. The threat of spending a night in jail pushed Jared into following Jensen through the doorway. Once the door was shut, they both leaned their backs and their full weight against it, as they heard the cops try the same doors Jensen had minutes before.

Jared began to sweat as the voices came near, his heart rabbiting in his chest as he wondered whether JD would bail him out of jail, what his aunt would think when she returned from her trip to find him behind bars. He glanced at Jensen, their faces only inches apart, as they tensed up when the doorknob below them began to twist. The boys silently pressed their combined 350 pounds against the wooden door. Cops on the other side continued to make their way down the alley and the voices faded a few minutes later.

Jensen's face broke into a grin as he slapped Jared's cheek. "I would have bet money that you couldn’t stay quiet that long." 

He blushed. Everything out of Jensen’s mouth seemed like an innuendo and Jared wondered if he did it on purpose or if he was just built that way. His hand slid up from Jared’s cheek to brush his long hair behind his ear. Jared moved closer in the cramped space to take advantage of the intimate touch and kissed the bootlegger. 

“What do you want, Jensen? Tell me.”

Jensen looked surprised for a moment, eyes widening and lips falling open, but then moved in closer. His thumb brushed against the corner of Jared's mouth and the younger man opened it like a baby for a bottle, taking the tip of that thumb onto his tongue, closing wet and soft around it. As he sucked, he could taste the last bit of whiskey and smoke on Jensen’s skin. No matter where he went or who he was with, those tastes would always remind him of this man, of this moment.

Jensen groaned but removed his thumb and Jared thought, this is it, I pushed too far. Instead, Jensen pulled him over so that they were no longer side by side, but Jared was pinned underneath all that bulk, his back biting into the cold wood door, as Jensen’s arms framed either side of his head.

“What I want is you on your knees with your mouth around my cock.”

With that idea planted, Jared let out a shiver. His back slid down the door, and he grasped onto Jensen’s thighs which tensed beneath the fine wool of his suit. When his head was level with the buckle of Jensen’s pants, Jared ran his thumbs along the inside of his legs, stroking upwards. Jensen was built like a footballer, sturdy and strong, his muscle well defined beneath his fine clothes. 

He should have felt claustrophobic, trapped in the cradle of this man’s thighs with his cock inches away, but all Jared could think was whether that cock was just as perfect as the rest of Jensen.

He licked his lips and reached for the buckle of Jensen’s pants, pulling the leather slowly from the loops. Jared glanced up at Jensen’s face, now looking down at him between his arms braced above on the door. Jensen’s body now formed a cage around him and knowing that he couldn’t move even if he wanted to excited Jared and he pushed down against the bulge in his own pants to focus on getting Jensen out of his.

As he slipped his hand inside the fly to pull Jensen free, he heard the bootlegger swear above him, now placing his forehead against the wood door.

“Jared, wait.” He looked up into his face, a face that seemed to be open and honest, almost painful in its desire, as if Jared were the only one that existed in the world. A world away from the cocky criminal he first met. “Is this what you want? Only if you want it, baby, ok?”

Jared smiled at the nickname and took Jensen on his tongue. While he didn’t have as much experience as he imagined the older man did, Jared wasn’t without skills in this area, despite Jensen’s insistence that he was just a kid.

The angle wasn’t the best and Jensen was bigger than other men that Jared had been with, so the tip bumped the back of his throat on each pass. His eyes watered, but all he could think about was getting closer, getting his lips stretched around Jensen. It was getting difficult to breath, so Jared closed his eyes, making a desperate humming at the back of his throat, causing Jensen to grab onto his shoulder. 

His own cock was a hard weight between his legs, and Jared snaked one hand away from Jensen’s dick to rub against his own. His balls were tightening and his own release was building far too quickly.

Jensen began to make strangled noises and his thigh beneath Jared’s hand tightened up, giving him notice before Jensen flooded his mouth and throat. As Jared swallowed, taking big gulps of air in between, he began to see white spots behind his eyelids, which fluttered as he was pushed over the edge himself.

Dropping to his knees in front of Jared, Jensen cupped the back of his head and stroked his cheek with his thumb. “Fuck. That was unbelievable. Are you ok? Do you need—”

Jared laughed while he interrupted. “More than ok, thanks.”

Jensen looked down at the front of the younger man’s pants, noticing the wet spot that wasn’t there before. “Oh, baby, are you kidding me? Fuck, you came from just that?”

He hung his head, letting his long bangs hide his eyes, but Jensen pulled it back up. The man’s smile reminded Jared of that first night when he saw him dancing, looking happy and carefree. But this smile meant everything because it was just for him. 

“Don’t hide from me, Jared. Don’t ever hide. You’re perfect. Next time, we won’t be in some back room. I’ll take you anywhere you want. If you want a suite at the Waldorf, that’s where we’ll go.”

The thought of a next time and where this might go brought an answering smile to Jared’s face as Jensen helped him to his feet.

As they stood up and looked around at the storeroom they found themselves in, Jared realized it was probably a tailor's shop with shelves of fabric, large wool and cotton bolts, with spools of threads as big as his hand. A sewing machine was nestled in a corner by the only window with an oak cutting table in the middle of the room, several measuring tapes left unspooled on the top.

A bolt of soft grey wool pinstripe material sat on the top of the table, and Jared thought how he should come back to this shop for a fitting and get a proper three-piece suit with wide lapels and a pocket in the vest for his grandfather's watch. The cheap blue suit he wore tonight was one of only two that he owned.

"Shit, I left my coat in the club," Jared exclaimed as he turned quickly towards the door. 

Jensen put his hand up to his chest to stop him. "You're not going back in there until tomorrow. We should wait a bit to make sure the cops don't come back this way."

With nowhere to go for a little while, Jared wandered over the cutting table and hopped up on the edge, giving Jensen a critical look.

"Thanks, you know, for getting me out of there when you did. But how did you know? Because you knew it was going to happen, right?" The reporter leaned back on his hands, in a half sprawl on the table, swinging his legs freely underneath. Thinking back over the events for the night, it was too much of a coincidence that the bootlegger told him not to show up at the very time the club was raided.

Jensen turned away from him. "Yeah, well, I heard it around town today that something might come down tonight."

"Ok. But that’s not totally true. You knew about this yesterday. You were warning me when we talked last night. Why take the risk to be at the club when a raid was happening?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"Reporter, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember." Jensen moved into the V between Jared's legs and settled his palms lightly on top, causing Jared to sit up and bring their faces closer together. "Maybe I didn't want you to end up in jail tonight. Nasty things happen to innocent guys inside lock up." The older man grabbed Jared’s thighs and began to rub his thumbs along the inside of his knees. 

"I'm not a child, Jen, and I would think it’s pretty obvious now that I'm not a virgin.” It was difficult to concentrate while Jensen was doing that with his hands. ”Hope that doesn't ruin your fantasy about me."

"God, no. I like a man with experience, although the best thing is seeing you blush when I do this," he said as his thumbs continued to rub higher up the inside of Jared's thighs, causing him to open them a little further. “I could get use to it.” 

Jared started to sit up, to say something smart, when Jensen caught his lips halfway there. That smart ass remark that always seemed to be on the tip of his tongue whenever he spoke to Jensen was licked away along with the sweet taste of the ginger ale and whiskey he drank earlier. What was usually a battle of words between them became slick mouths and soft lips.

Jensen was the one to break the kiss, leaning in close to breathe in Jared’s ear. “C’mon, let’s get out of here and back to your house. I want to see how much you blush when I come inside you.”

As they stepped back into the alley from the shop, Jared was much more aware of the smells than before and the cool air on his shirt sleeves. When he shivered slightly, Jensen stripped off his jacket, insisting that Jared wear it. 

The two linked fingers, and Jared felt an easy release of breath he didn't realize that he had been holding. Whatever was between the two of them seemed natural and easy. It was like snapping together two puzzle pieces that were made to be fit, rather than the typical awkwardness Jared had experienced after any other kind of sex. 

Where their palms and fingertips touched was solid and real, like two train cars linking up in a coupling so strong that they couldn't be pulled apart. The two hurried through the dirty alleyway to the street, seeking out the yellow streetlight on the corner ahead.

"Hold up, right there." As they neared the street, a cop in a dark blue uniform stepped out from the shadows and Jensen stepped in front of Jared. This guy looked like a recruiting poster for the NYPD, the epitome of authority and someone you would turn to if you needed help, but the swing of his billy club and the enthusiasm with which he smacked it against his leg spoke to something else entirely.

"Are you two coming out of the club back there?"

Jared started to speak up, but the bootlegger squeezed his hand. "Nah, we were just coming out of my shop, officer."

"Awfully late to be working." The cop was big and barrel chested, looked to be in his early thirties but in peak physical condition. If they tried to start a fight or run, this man was more than a match. The cop gave an appraising look at their linked hands and then looked Jared up and down before stepping towards him. "I think maybe you boys were in that club. Probably should run both of you in, you know, just in case you're criminals or some other kind of deviants."

"C'mon, officer," Jensen continued smoothly without backing down, sharing a smirk and a wink with the officer, still angling Jared away as the guy began to circle them. "I was just working late with my friend here. You know how that goes."

One side of the cop's mouth pulled up, turning his picture perfect Pepsodent smile into a sneer. "Sure. I can appreciate that, but I still need to run you in. Can't have a couple of Jaspers like you running around the streets of our fair city. Of course, I could be convinced that's not necessary." 

The guy grabbed his crotch pointedly, making eye contact with Jared. "Your boy here would do. Maybe he could offer me some gratitude for not taking you both in. You know, we could go back to that shop of yours in the alleyway and he could settle up." 

Jared’s anger flared and he started forward, but Jensen blocked his way, firm hand on his chest. 

"Yeah, see, that's not going to happen, but I can offer you some other compensation for your time, officer, since I get that you obviously take your job so seriously." Jensen reached into his inside jacket pocket and opened up his leather wallet. Jared could hear the crinkling of paper bills as the bootlegger pulled out a few. "$20? That would buy your wife a nice piece of jewelry. Or maybe your girlfriend dinner and drinks at a fancy restaurant?"

The cop wiggled his ring finger with a gold band at the bootlegger and gazed back at Jensen's wallet. "Well, my wife has expensive taste. Better make it a C-note."

The bootlegger went to the center of his wallet and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and Jared wanted to protest that it was too much, that you could buy a car for that much, but Jensen handed it over with a smile. The cop left, walking quickly in the opposite direction, and forgetting them in his hunt for the next post-raid mark in the neighborhood. 

The smirk on Jensen's face dropped like a penny off the top of the new Empire State Building as soon as the officer turned away.

"Fucking cops in this town. They think they can do anything; that no one will stop them. God, I can't wait to leave all this behind. All the sleazy criminals and crooked cops. Scrape them off the bottom of my shoe. One more week and I'm gone." Jensen's eyes were bone-tired, as if the exchange with the cop had sucked the life out of him, more than Jared had on his knees.

"Gone?" Jared stopped in his tracks and pulled back on Jensen's hand.

"Yeah, next week I'll be onto another job in another state and away from this filth."

"Another state?" This was all new information to Jared. He assumed that Jensen was a fixture in the Manhattan speakeasies, since he seemed made to fit, both in the clubs and in Jared's life. "But your business seems to be doing so well. Where are you going?"

Jensen became guarded, as if realizing that he had stepped in a hole he wasn't sure how to climb out of. 

"Back home. Back to D.C. This was always a temporary situation."

Confusion turned to anger as Jared thought of himself sucking down Jensen not twenty minutes ago in that shop storeroom. "Would have been nice to know that before I had your cock in my mouth, Jen. I don't normally do that for someone who is just temporary."

"No, no, of course not." Jensen realized his mistake and reached out to touch Jared's arm and the younger man stepped back, his face darkening further. "Jared, I can't explain right now, so you're gonna have to trust me, but this is not how my life really is."

"No, you're right, I don't understand. You know, Dani tried to warn me that first night, back at The Emperor. She said no one gets to know you -- told me how I shouldn't get attached. God, she was right and I’m an idiot for thinking that we could have had something between us."

Jared could still taste the saltiness of Jensen’s cum in his mouth, and now the taste was turning bitter. This night meant nothing to the other man, other than a quick release, something to do before he got back to his real life, whatever that meant. He was nothing more than someone that he ran across in a club; someone who was willing and stupid and easy.

Jared’s thoughts were turning white with anger, like a kettle set to boil on the stove, but through it all, he saw flashes of yellow on the street ahead. He pushed past Jensen’s shoulder and ran out to the curb, flagged down the first taxi driving by. He jumped in and ignored the bootlegger's shouts behind him, locking the car door and letting his head sink back against the back seat. There were several furious raps on the window as Jensen yelled at him through the glass, but Jared didn't care. 

He was fine as the taxi sped away from the curb. 

He was fine leaving the person standing there that, until a few minutes ago, he thought he could have had some kind of future with. 

He was fine when the taxi pulled up to his aunt's house. 

He didn't cry until he got inside and curled up in his bed in the dark. He felt like such a fool. Life didn’t happen like it did in the books he read. It wasn’t love at first sight or happy endings. It was messy and painful and real.


	4. Chapter 4

Jared twisted in the hard wood chair in front of JD's desk, the sunlight pouring bright through the wooden window slats. Twenty minutes ago he was called into the office by JD's secretary, but the editor had yet to make an appearance. 

Yesterday's piece on The Bijoux was turned in on time, which was a miracle. This time it wasn't a hangover holding him back from doing his best, just a little heartbreak. He stood up to shut the blinds, unable to face the unrelenting brightness today.

Jared wasn't sure how JD would respond to the description of the raid or the bribery of a public official in the alley afterwards. Of course, he left out the sex in between the two events. The article ran on top of the fold on page two, so JD must have liked it.

Like a child in his boredom, Jared began to look through the cluttered desk in front of him where stacks of newsheet copy mixed with photographs and their suggested edits, and the remains of JD's roast beef sandwich from four hours ago when Jared made a run to the deli downstairs. How the editor ever got a newspaper out in this mess each day was beyond him. 

His eye caught on a letter sitting on top of the pile, with an official Treasury department seal at the top and dated today. Jared leaned over the desk and twisted his head, seeing a reference to the raid on The Bijoux and a request to meet with the reporter hidden behind the pen name. Shit, this wasn't good.

When the office door behind him opened, Jared sat back down and looked as guilty as a dog eating food off the table. He expected a glower and a cutting remark, but instead JD was smiling like the sunshine that had been coming through his office window.

"Please don't stop on my account. I'd expect no less from a reporter of mine than that they would snoop a bit." The editor walked around to the other side of his desk, throwing his feet up to rest, crossed casually at the ankles over the Treasury department letter. "Your article yesterday was a big hit. Something for everyone. The music. The drinking. The raid. The bribery. We sold 10,000 more issues than normal and I think it was all due to your story."

Jared blushed under the praise. "Am I in trouble?" he asked, gesturing towards the official summons, now wrinkled under JD's leg.

"This? Nah. Don't you worry about it. They're trying to swing a big stick at me to get you to talk about what you saw at the club the other night. Not going to happen. That's what we have the first amendment for, at least until they repeal that. Given what’s going on in this country, I wouldn’t doubt that’s far behind."

"Ok, JD, if you say so. So, what's next, then? Another club?" 

"Eager to get out again? Look at you, son. Maybe I've turned you into some kind of degenerate," JD chuckled and laced his hands behind his head. "Sure, if you're up for it. There's a new place called Port 45. It's a little off the beaten path, but the club owner is a bit of a mystery -- a woman. Maybe that will keep you away from raids and thugs. Could be an interesting profile, you know, woman in a man’s profession."

Jared scratched his head and looked back at his editor. "JD, can I ask you a question? Why does the newspaper want to see the end of the Volstead Act? I've never really thought about it before, or cared one way or the other myself, so I'm curious why you want it repealed. My father always said that prohibition would help to put a stop to all the other vices, like prostitution and violence."

"Everyone needs a few vices, kid. It's in the nature of us being human, and me having a belt of whiskey with friends doesn't corrupt the fabric of modern American families." JD showed a few teeth in amusement through his salt-and-pepper scruff. 

"It's not the alcohol that corrupts; it's people taking advantage of our human nature. By making it illegal to drink, they've allowed a whole world of thugs and gangsters to grow and flourish like mold in a dark basement. Now, if someone was cleaning the house on a regular basis, it wouldn't be so bad. But here in New York, no one's doing the housekeeping like they should."

"Why aren't the cops doing something? Seems pretty straightforward to me. Someone breaks the law and the cops arrest them." The young reporter wrinkled up his forehead in confusion and his editor laughed.

"Because the mob pays better than the city of New York, that's why. Now get out of here, kid, I got work to do."

Jared stood up, unsure how to put into balance the time he had spent in the clubs during the last week with what JD said. He walked back out to the bullpen, where Genevieve was parked on top of his desk, looking through his papers.

"How was JD? He in a good mood?" She looked past him into the glass windows of the editor's office, squinting at where the man was bent over the mess of photos on his desk.

"Yeah, he's good." He started to gather his things from around where she sat.

"Are you heading out to another club this week?" Her head swung back to him, but she made no concession to move. "Need some help? I would make a much better partner at the club than Chad and you know it."

Jared glanced up at those pleading brown eyes of hers. "JD would kill me if I took you along."

"I'm the one who gave him the idea about Port 45, you know. A woman-owned nightclub, imagine that? C'mon, you gotta take me along. I'm not looking to share the byline, just to check out the place, have a little fun. It's close to my place, so we could meet there and walk over. And you know that I could hold my own in a tough spot, probably better than you." Genevieve rolled her eyes, but didn't budge from the edge of Jared's desk.

He didn't want to go alone, and after the fight with Jensen, he hoped that he wouldn’t run into the bootlegger again. A little separation was probably the best for everyone since there was no future there.

Chad strolled up just then, stuffing the remaining bite of a donut in his mouth. He sat down on the edge of Jared's desk, knocking Genevieve’s shoulder, pushing her further down the desk. "What are we talking about?"

"Jared's going to take us with him to the next club." 

Jared sighed. Despite the trouble that he was sure these two could get into, it would be fun to have them along for the night.

"Ok, but we can't let JD know about this until afterwards, okay? He would take my head off if he found out Genevieve went. I'll swing by your place around nine tonight and we can head out."

\---

Jared forgot all about the suit coat he left at The Bijoux until that afternoon when he started to walk home. Given that he only had two suits, he would need to pick it up before the three of them headed out tonight to Port 45. Perhaps he could get a few good quotes from Sheppard when he stopped by the club.

Late afternoon light was casting shadows from the trees as he walked up to the front door of The Bijoux. A yellow sheet of paper was nailed to the door, its edges blowing back and forth in the breeze. Jared pulled it down to read the official order of injunction that indicated the establishment was closed for business indefinitely. Despite the warning, the entrance wasn't locked.

"Hello? Anyone around?" Jared stepped across the threshold. What was a lively club filled with music lovers the other night was now a lonely disarray of overturned chairs and broken highball glasses.

Jared walked towards the back wall where the banquette he shared with Crowley was, but there was no sign of his suit coat where he left it. He chewed his bottom lip. It was just a stupid coat. He could borrow one from Chad but that thought made him cringe, thinking how his friend's style was all flash, with short ties and wide lapels. It would feel more like a costume than a suit coat.

He heard a raised voice, with Sheppard's distinctive accent, come through the curtain leading to the back rooms. As he pushed the red velvet panel aside, Jared remembered standing in close proximity with Jensen on this spot and shook it off. The bootlegger was moving on and getting out, and so should Jared. It had been a brief infatuation as Jared immersed himself in the clubs and the excitement of his new job. Nothing more than that. The sooner he realized that, the better.

Following the dark hallway down to the office, Jared approached the open door thinking to knock when he heard a loud thump and a cry of pain. That instinct to help overrode any instinct he had for propriety and Jared threw open the door. The tableau before him made him pull up short.

A beautiful red-headed woman, who looked like a model right out of a Macy's advertisement, leaned against what he assumed was Sheppard's desk, her rouged lips in a serene smile, looking down at Sheppard who was sprawled on the ground at her feet. It reminded him of one of those Renaissance paintings of mother and child, or maybe Michael and Lucifer was a more apt comparison, with her white silk dress and the figure below her dressed in black. Another man stood behind the downed person, large and hulking and bored, with a silver handgun pulled, casually ready to use it.

Three sets of eyes turned towards him, and he realized that the man on the ground had blood running down his face, slipping between his fingers. The thug with a gun went on alert, whipping it up and pointing it at the new threat. Jared realized in that moment that he was facing down a loaded firearm, and that one false move could end him.

"Wait," Sheppard waved his hand at the thug. "Don't shoot. That’s a reporter. This is the guy that wrote up the review on the club."

Jared froze in his tracks, unable to form words. The redhead pulled herself away from the desk and sauntered over, not giving a second look to the steel barrel of the gangster's gun, which never wavered from Jared’s face.

"You don't say?" She sounded amused by the situation. "Well, that was a great review, Mr. Reporter. Always appreciate good publicity for one of my clubs. So, that was a big adventure for you with the raid, huh?"

It took Jared a moment to realize she was asking him a question.

"Yesss, I guess it was," His forehead wrinkled up in confusion. Was this a polite conversation? Or was he about to be shot? He wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to this, but gauging by the blood on the club manager's face, he decided to go along with it.

Those luscious red lips pulled into a smile that didn't seem to reach her eyes. "Sheppard, why don't you introduce us?" Behind her, the man stumbled to his feet, his face still a wreck, while he tried to straighten out his suit and tie.

"Jared, this is Alaina Huffman. She's the owner of The Bijoux and my boss." He encouraged Jared with a nod of his head to shake her hand, a polite farce in light of what he had walked in on.

"Well, aren't you just the bee’s knees?" Alaina looked him up and down, but it felt more like the strategic look of a general, as opposed to the glance of a potential lover. "You're awfully young to be a reporter."

"I'm twenty-three," Jared stuttered out.

"Why, practically a senior citizen. Dutch, you can put down the gun. I don't think our young friend here is any threat."

Immediately, the thug behind her lowered his weapon to his side, but didn't holster it. Sheppard dropped into one of the two wooden chairs in front of his desk and pulled out a handkerchief to dab his still bleeding nose.

Alaina walked even closer into Jared's space, twirling a lock of her hair around one well-manicured finger before continuing. "In fact, this surprise interruption might be a fortuitous meeting. I need a contact at the newspaper, a friend, someone who could help me out in a fix."

Jared was a nice Midwestern boy and had been conditioned to be polite to women, but no matter how this request was posed, he was sure Alaina was asking for something over the line. He glanced nervously at Dutch who still held his gun loosely at this side before turning his attention back to the man's boss.

"Thanks, but I’m not sure that I want to be your friend. I've seen how you treat your employees." Jared jerked his head at Sheppard who looked up at him with a studied glance.

"Well, I'm sure that you wouldn't let me down like my club manager did, bringing in all those Treasury and police last night, causing me to lose a lot of property and a lot of money. Looking at you, you look like a real Boy Scout -- honor, loyalty, and all that. Mr. Sheppard, on the other hand, needs to learn a few things about loyalty. As a business owner, I can't just let my employees do what they want. They need a strong hand to guide them." Alaina smiled brightly as if sharing an important secret with Jared. She then reached out and pulled his tie out to examine the small pattern on the silk, before pulling it firmly towards her. "You stumbled in here just now, interrupting our little meeting about the raid last night, so tell me, why are you here?"

Jared blushed, with the answer so insignificant to the scene before him. "I… I forgot my suit coat the other night."

Sheppard rolled his eyes to his credit, waving Jared over to a skinny wardrobe in the corner of the office. Jared pulled himself away from Alaina and found his blue coat hanging next to two of the club manager’s dark suits. Jared sheepishly yanked the jacket out, throwing it over his arm, and made to slip out the office door before Alaina stepped in front of him.

"You're not gonna just blow out of here, are you sweetheart? We were discussing some business." Her dress swished as she moved, and at first glance she looked like one of the East Side ladies with their strands of pearls and fine silks. It was only when she smiled that the resemblance ended, bringing to mind sharks and sea witches coming up from the depths of the ocean.

Jared let out a little shudder as she reached out, laying her hand firmly on his forearm. He needed to get out of here in one piece. "I don't have any business with you. Whatever you think I'll give you, I won't."

"Oh, I know you will because I always get what I want. See, now I know who you are and where you work. Only a matter of time before I know where you live and who you love. All important information that friends should know about each other, right? Trust me, we'll help each other out in the end." 

He glanced back at Sheppard seated at the desk, but the man refused to meet his eyes as Jared skirted around Alaina and the armed gangster, clutching the jacket to his chest. He didn't look back.

As he pushed the club front door open, a flare of light from the setting sun hit his eyes. How was the sun still up when he felt like he had fallen into a deep hole in that back office? Jared threw the jacket on and turned the collar up against a rising wind and the approaching darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

Walking through his neighborhood streets, the reporter couldn't shake the feeling of being collared after appearing on Alaina's radar. She didn't strike him as someone who would forget their encounter easily. Maybe Jensen was right. The clubs seemed to be harmless entertainment, but the stink of rot and corruption seemed to rise up from under the floor boards.

Jared looked up as he approached the final block to his aunt's house and saw a light in the window of Sam's basement. He hesitated only a second before walking down the short stairs to the wrought iron entrance, spotting her through the window behind the bar, just as she was the last time he saw her with Jensen.

Walking into the small room, he smelled something amazing that took his mind off his current problems. "Is that cake?"

Sam looked up from where she was cutting through the thick chocolate icing, and broke into a smile. "Well, hey there, sweetie. Why yes, it is cake and I just made it today. You want a piece? It's a new deal I'm offering. If you buy a piece, I give you a drink for free." She winked at Jared, whose forehead wrinkled up in confusion.

"See, a good friend of ours offered me a little piece of advice. Treasury can't bust you if you're giving away the booze for free. Now, I'm the neighborhood bakery."

Her laughter was contagious. "Pretty slick. I like it. Who gave you that idea?"

"Jensen." Her smile became a frown when she saw Jared’s face fall. "I know Jensen can be difficult, but he's a good boy. I've known him and his family since he was little."

"Really? I didn't think Jensen had family. Or any friends for that matter." Sam handed him the piece of cake with a fork and he cut into it as he thought about his next words. "Did he tell you that he's leaving town next week?" 

Sam reached out and touched his forearm. So similar to what Alaina had done just an hour before and yet he felt nothing but comfort here in this place. Sam's face was guarded, though, as she responded. "I know he travels a lot for his job, but he always comes home."

"His job, huh? You make bootlegging sound so legitimate. Okay, I'll bite. What was he like, as a kid?" Jared couldn't imagine Jensen as a child. To him, Jensen was like some Greek god sprung to life fully formed, like Athena from Zeus's head. Dani was right -- he did have it bad for the guy.

"Such a polite boy, loved his mother so much, worshipped his older brother." She signaled Jared to take another bite of the dessert in front of him. Sam laughed at Jared's groan of approval.

"Is his brother in the same business, too?" 

At that, her head dropped down and she grabbed a towel from below the counter and began to wipe down the already spotless counter. "No, honey, he died."

Jared set the fork back down on his plate. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I don't mean to be disrespectful."

She flipped her hair back and gave him another smile. "No, you're fine. He was a policeman, top of his class. Shot while investigating a warehouse robbery. This was just after they started really shutting down the bars eight years ago and tensions were high. That's when a lot of these thugs got their claws in, and started setting up their clubs. Also when a lot of cops realized it was worth so much more to them if they started working with these gangsters, rather than busting them. If you were a good cop like Jensen's brother, you got caught in the middle of it. His death was terrible on Jensen. He planned to follow in his brother’s footsteps."

"A cop, huh? So, after all that, what would make him become a bootlegger? Why would he join up with the same type of people who killed his brother?" It made no sense, but people did funny things when grief took them. Sometimes people would decide to join up with a stronger adversary just to protect themselves, to make sure that the same thing didn't happen to them. Jared had been driven by his mother’s death to disregard his father's plans for him and find his way here to New York. Maybe Jensen’s life took a dark twist for a similar reason.

Sam shook her head. "Look, I've already said too much about something that's not my business to tell, Jared. You need to ask Jensen yourself."

He took another sip of his drink, knowing that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

\---

Jared was running a few minutes late when he met up with Genevieve and Chad outside the club. Chad was gesticulating wildly, telling some story, and the look on Genevieve’s face told Jared that she had been waiting a few too many minutes in the cold listening to their crazy co-worker.

“Finally! Another few minutes and I would have thrown Chad into the East River if I had to hear any more about his date with Janice in accounting.” She rolled her eyes and slipped her arm through Jared’s, snuggling against the wind off the water. “Are you ready for some fun?”

The three of them entered the smoky bar, which had a rougher atmosphere than the last two clubs Jared visited, and he was glad that Chad was with them. As Gen took off her coat, revealing a red cocktail dress, a number of eyes turned towards her and Jared slipped his arm around the petite woman’s shoulders protectively as they walked to the bar.

“Now, this looks like the kind of place I could get very lucky in.” Chad was immediately distracted by the hostess taking coats until Jared grabbed his arm to pull him along to the bar.

As they walked through the crowd, Jared’s eye was caught by the sight of a familiar little redhead who turned and squealed when she saw him.

“Jared, what are you doing here?” Dani looked stunning as always.

“I’m with my friends, writing up another review. What are you doing here? No longer working at The Emperor?”

“I’m still at the Penguin, but tonight, I’m just out for fun.” Her eyes continued to pick through the rowdy crowd, perhaps looking for her friends or date.

“Well, find us later. I want to introduce you to my friends, ok?” They hugged and parted with Jared rejoining Genevieve and Chad at the bar.

As Jared shouldered his way into a spot where he could signal the bartender for their drinks, he bumped hard against another club goer. Jared was used to that kind of alpha behavior from other guys when he was out in crowds. Given his size, a lot of men wanted nothing more than to pick a fight with him, so he always tried to be friendly and keep the peace, no matter how big of a jerk they were.

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry..." The apology dried up on his tongue like leaves in the autumn breeze when he looked over at Jensen's green eyes. Seeing him again was a jolt to his system, but Jared reminded himself that this was only a dead end. "What are you doing here?"

Jensen’s jaw clenched, unnoticeable to anyone other than Jared. "My last night of work. Needed to make a delivery and check out Alaina's new club. And once again, you are in the wrong place at the wrong time. You seem to have a knack for that, you know." Jensen looked away and began to scan the crowd as if searching for someone more interesting, more in line with whatever his new lifestyle was, certainly someone more glamorous than Jared would ever be.

Jared felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down at Genevieve's face which showed a flash of concern for him before schooling itself into a fake smile for Jensen. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Of course. Gen, this is Jensen, bootlegger and whiskey supplier to all the best clubs in Manhattan. This is the guy that got me out of The Bijoux during the raid." And the guy I blew in the back of a store, he thought.

Jensen, tight smile on his lips, extended his hand and leaned down to greet the petite brunette. "Gen, huh? From what I remember, Jared seems to like that nickname for all his close friends. I assume that means the two of you are close?"

Jared pushed Jensen back, blushing at the thought of how he mindlessly used the nickname when the two of them were together two days ago. Those days seemed more like a month. He shut his mouth to avoid saying the hurtful things he wanted to say to this man and instead he turned back to his colleague and leaned down over the noise of the club patrons, holding her elbow, so the tiny woman wouldn't be jostled by the tall men surrounding her. 

"Ignore him. What would you like to drink? How about a highball? Kinda developed a taste for those the other night," he said with a conspiratorial smile and Gen nodded in agreement. Jared placed his arm around her waist to pull her into the space he created next to him at the bar. She glanced past Jared’s shoulder to where Jensen stood and the reporter could imagine him lounging against the bar, flirting with all the bartenders and hostesses. There was no way he was turning around again to see that.

When their drinks arrived, Gen glanced over once more before reaching up to place her hand on his neck, pulling him down to her level. Jared was surprised at the intimate gesture, but there was no mistaking that twinkle in her eye. He had seen it enough in the office at their staff meetings, when JD wasn't looking, and it was never a good thing.

"Do you want my help?" she asked, as she fingered the curls at the back of his neck.

"With what?" Jared shook his head.

"Don't be thick, Jared. With your love life." Before Jared could reply, Genevieve gave him a dramatic kiss on the lips that would have been only half hidden from Jensen. He licked his lips in surprise, and couldn't resist a guilty peek back over his shoulder.

The look on Jensen's face wasn't careless or smiling anymore. It was the solid blankness of grey clouds before a Midwest thunderstorm. Jared could swear he saw the muscle along his jaw tick twice more before he looked away. What did Jensen have to be upset about? He was leaving Jared behind without a second glance, not the other way around.

Chad spoke up on the other side of Gen. “I think the band will start playing soon. Wonder if we will get to meet the mysterious owner. I hear Alaina is this drop-dead redhead. I could go for that.”

As he shook off the fog Jensen's presence put him in, Chad's words were ringing an alarm bell for him. "Wait, back up a minute. Did you say this is Alaina's club? Alaina Huffman?" 

Genevieve pulled away from where she was tucked up against Jared's chest. "Well, yeah. Remember I told you this place was owned by a woman? I wonder what she's like. I would love to get an interview, find out what it's like to be a woman standing shoulder to shoulder with the other business owners in the city."

The respect in Gen's words stopped him cold because he knew that Alaina was a criminal, not some respectable club owner. He wanted to forget all about their meeting that afternoon, but now all he could think about was the brutality of her bodyguard, beating a man who was already down on the ground. And for what? A raid that Mark Sheppard had no control over. If that was how these criminals dealt with their business partners and friends, how would they treat Jared when he refused to help them when she tried to call in a favor? 

His stomach rolled violently. He could handle himself, but the thought of Genevieve alone with that shark of a woman, had him thinking about how to get them out of the club as quickly as possible.

"Jared, what's wrong?" It was Jensen who asked the question, supporting his elbow from the other side. In all the craziness of this afternoon, he hadn’t eaten anything other than a few bites of Sam's cake. That combined with the sweet drinks they were drinking now and the thought of being Alaina's puppet in the future, made the bile rise quickly in his throat.

"I'm going to be sick." He looked into Jensen's green eyes, which widened in concern. "Please, stay here with Genevieve for a minute." 

The bootlegger nodded in agreement and Jared ran out of the main room as quickly as possible, barely making it to a toilet in the back before getting sick. As he wiped off his face with a towel, the reflection staring back at him in the mirror wasn't pretty. Dark circles around his eyes and his hair hanging in hopeless sweaty strands. Despite all his concerns about running into the club owner, the only thing he could think about was how he had to go back out and face Jensen once more. If the bootlegger thought he was a naive child before, now he would have even more proof. He couldn't hold his liquor and he couldn't contain his fear.

Leaving the bathroom, Jared heard voices by the back entrance to the club. His ear picked up one that was the higher tones of a woman in distress. He followed the voices around the corner to see Dani with Alaina's man from that afternoon, his meaty paw clamped around the little redhead’s upper arm, half walking her out and half dragging her along.

"Hey, jerkface, I told you that I would come with you." She attempted to pull her arm away from the man, whose powerful stride and height kept pulling her off her feet. "I got nothing to hide from Alaina. Just let me go."

They were outside with the door slamming shut behind them before Jared could catch up. He briefly thought about getting Jensen back at the bar to help, but he was a grown man and most people would be intimidated by his size. It was time he did something with that to help someone else.

He cracked the back door to the alleyway open and could hear Alaina's voice which was calm, almost soothing, like she was speaking to a small animal. It sent a chill up his spine.

"You know, Danneel, someone keeps feeding Treasury information about all of my little businesses here in the city. They keep shutting down my clubs, not any of the others, which makes me think that we have a problem and it’s with someone we know. And when I have a problem, my partners out of Chicago are very disappointed. I hate to disappoint people, especially the ones in Chicago. Do you see what I'm saying?"

Dani didn't respond, frozen as Alaina continued talking, as if she were a deer in the forest caught in the site of a hunter.

"Makes me think that maybe a mole in our operations is talking to the FBI, too. Do you know anything about that, dear?"

The shorter woman laughed and shook her head, a bold move given the mountain of muscle that stood over her. "You think it's me? I'm flattered, really, that you think I would be chatting up the cops, but I don't know anything. What about Sheppard? There's a guy that seems to have a lot going on. I wouldn't put it past him."

"We had a little discussion with him earlier, but really, Mark has just as much to lose as I do as manager for my clubs. But you on the other hand, seem to always be around either working or hanging out in the club when things are going down. Why is that?"

"Just lucky, I guess."

"You’re spunky, I like that. And not afraid of me. But really, you should be." Alaina nodded to the thug holding onto Dani, and the guy raised his hand, bringing it down hard across the hostess's face.

Jared heard the slap, violent and loud, across Dani's face and saw the little redhead crumple to the ground, which launched him into action from where he stood in the doorway before he could think better of it. The man's arm was already raised for a second blow, and Jared grabbed his arm reached its apex, receiving a grunt of surprise from the bodyguard when his forward motion was stopped. 

Unfortunately, the guy wasn't just tall, but solid like a brick wall. He turned around and knocked Jared off balance with his elbow while his other fist came up to connect with a vicious undercut to Jared's jaw. Jared was laying with his back on the black gravel of the alley before he even knew what was happening. His view straight up of the stars between the red brick buildings was short-lived and he was pulled up by his shoulder onto his knees.

The quick change in altitude made Jared feel like he was going to black out for a moment, but Alaina grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, bringing everything into painful focus.

"What do you think you're doing?" Her perfume was beautiful and he could smell it this close up. Shalimar. Soft, powdery, sweet. Something his aunt liked to wear. 

The idea of putting perfume on a shark made him laugh, which was exactly the wrong reaction in front of the gangster. 

Her nails sunk into his scalp and were relentless in the pain inflicted, and he couldn't pull away, awkwardly positioned on his knees in front of her. Jared might have had 70 pounds on her, but she held all the cards here.

"Maybe I'm looking at this all wrong. Maybe it's not someone from the inside ratting us out, but someone from the outside." She pulled Jared's head to the side even more, exposed more of that pale column to the streetlight's glow. A long red nail ran across his jawline and then down his neck. When he swallowed nervously at the scrape, she brought her thumb up to run along his cartoid artery, pressing it down hard enough to feel his erratic heartbeat.

"Our pretty friend here from the newspaper keeps popping up. Maybe he knows something. Do you know something that could help me with my problem, my little bangtail?" She petted his hair like a prize horse. 

Jared tried to move his head and she tightened her grip. "No, I don't know anything about what's going on. Just let Dani go, ok?"

She cocked her head as if actually considering Jared's request. "No, sweetheart, I don't think I will. I have a good sense when something is all wet and I’m pretty sure our girl here is somehow involved, maybe snitching us out to Treasury for a little pay. Whatever it is, I'm not really good with the whole disloyalty thing. It's tough enough running a business when you're a woman but to have another woman try to destroy that is unacceptable. Better to cut losses and move on, right, Dutch? Let's take her over to the warehouse for a little chat."

Alaina signaled the thug standing next to Dani and he yanked her up by one thin arm and looked back at Jared. "What about him?"

She ran her fingers through his hair once more. "I kind of like the way he looks, sort of like an overgrown puppy. I think I want to keep him. Now, you're going to behave, right, puppy? I’d hate for us to visit that brownstone you live in with your aunt."

Jared spit at her, swinging his arm up to finally knock her hand away, but not before Alaina punched him in the mouth and he felt cold metal pressed against his temple. He closed his eyes and felt all his fear and anxiety leave. If this was it for him, he was going to go out thinking of those he loved, not the scene in front of him in that dirty back alley. He flashed on his aunt, on his friends at the newspaper, on the glimpse of a future he could have had with Jensen.

And that's when he heard Jensen's voice, but it wasn't part of some memory.

"Your man needs to put down his weapon, Alaina. I would hate to shoot you." Jared opened his eyes to see the bootlegger step out of the shadows of the doorway into the meager light of the alley, gun drawn and pointed square at Alaina's forehead.

After a thick moment of tension, she laughed. "Jensen? Why would someone like you get involved in our little dispute? You have a vested interest in how I handle any leaks in my business. Can't have the government poking around, and you know better than anyone that my partners in Chicago would be very unhappy about that."

Jensen glanced down at Jared, still on his knees with blood running down from his nose, and then back up at the armed thug behind him, one hand with a gun pointing at the reporter's head. 

"Dutch, that's your name, right? I want you to lower that gun and let the girl go, or I'll blow your boss's head clean off. Do you understand? Trust me, it isn't worth hurting either of them."

The thug didn't move, either because he was too well-trained or too stupid, and didn't take his eye off Jensen. The dampness and grit from the alley floor was biting into Jared's knees, but his powerlessness in this situation was much more painful. He glanced over at Dani who seemed unafraid now and completely focused on the gun pointed at Jared's head. 

"Alaina, is this really worth it to you? Some stupid hostess and a reporter who knows nothing? Trust me, it's not. Now, ask your man to lower his weapon."

She laughed. "Now why would I do that for some boot-licking bootlegger like you? We can find a hundred guys like you to supply my clubs, Jensen. You're the one who needs to walk away. Unless... unless you have a personal interest here? I've heard the stories about you, so I know it's not the girl you care about. Which means you got a thing for our sweet reporter."

At those words, her man cocked his revolver and pressed the cold metal against Jared's temple. Jensen shifted at the sound, but didn't move his gun away from Alaina.

Alaina smiled at the slight movement. "C'mon, I think that we all know you won't do anything to put him in danger."

"See, Alaina, that's where you're wrong." Jared's heart sank at Jensen's words and he closed his eyes once more. He hoped that despite the fact that he was leaving town, the bootlegger had some feelings for him or might miss him in a small way. Now, it seemed that he didn't care what happened to Jared. If it weren't for the gun poised to kill him, he would probably die from a broken heart on his knees in this dirty alley. 

"For such a smart woman, you never could see what was right in front of your face. Dani isn't your mole and Jared is not involved at all. You have so many problems and these two aren't any part of it."

The pressure of the gun against his temple eased slightly, which made Jared open his eyes again to see Jensen reaching inside his coat with his free hand to pull out what appeared to be his wallet.

"Right now, in Chicago, your partners are being arrested. Of course, we would have loved to have busted them for all the murders and assaults they are really responsible for, but racketeering charges should put them away until they’re old men."

Jensen flipped open the wallet and even from a kneeling position across the alley, Jared could see the gold star and ID card.

"You're FBI?" Alaina scoffed, but stepped forward to take another look at the badge. "But you’re our best supplier! So, we've all been chumps? Buying back our own confiscated booze from the government? Well, if that’s not a laugh."

Jensen shrugged his shoulders, not once changing his aim. "We’re after bigger fish than a few speakeasies here in New York. We'll leave all the booze and drug cases to the Treasury. Now, when it’s the murder, extortion and bribery of federal officials? Then the FBI is very interested. You and your partners in Chicago have been racking up a lot of felonies, Alaina. You’re going away for a very long time."

Alaina nodded again to her bodyguard who reached out to grab Dani's arm again and moved his revolver tight against Jared's temple once again.

"And if we get rid of the three of you, who's to know? As long as we clean it up right, and Dutch is aces at that." She smiled her shark smile again. "My problem is solved."

"Alaina, I thought you were smarter than that. Don’t you get it? We've been tracking you for a long time. Anything happens to me or my friends right now and it will all be traced back to you.” Jensen looked down at his watch. “In fact, Treasury should be showing up in just a few minutes for their next raid at this club. You wouldn't want to be caught with three dead bodies in the alley, would you?"

Blood from Jared's busted lip was running down his chin and his pants were soaked through at the knees but he didn't dare move or interrupt the scene in front of him.

"You let the two of them go, and I let you walk away right now. It's that simple."

Alaina looked uncertain for the first time, then signaled to Dutch to stand down. The thug flung Dani away from him and stepped over in front of his boss, providing a shield for her as they took off running down the alley.

Once their footsteps were gone, Jared fell forward on his hands, taking great gulps of air. In less than twenty minutes, he had gone from enjoying a drink with friends to being sure it was his last moment on earth. Cap it all off with the fact that the person he had feelings for lied about who he was. Overwhelmed didn't begin to cover how he felt in the moment.

A hand squeezed his shoulder and he looked up into Dani's concerned eyes. "Are you ok, Jared?"

He let out a startled laugh at that, as he looked up at the red mark across Dani’s face. "Me? How about you? Guess we both took a punch to the face. You are one tough lady."

"I don't mind taking a hit, but what I do mind is when all my undercover work goes down the drain." She looked up at Jensen as he approached. "What were you thinking, FBI? Six months of my life undercover for Treasury and it all went down the drain tonight, thanks to you."

"You're welcome for saving your life, Dani." 

Obviously there was a long history between these two who acted more like pissed off siblings rather than casual acquaintances.

"I had it under control. And now, you blew our cover and let Alaina go. Not to mention that you got Jared involved."

"I've been working to keep him out of all this, Dani. It’s not my fault he didn’t listen to me."

Jared staggered to his feet between the two of them as they argued and ran a tired hand over his face. His knees gave out a little and when he stumbled, Jensen caught his arm. 

"Don't." He yanked it back from him. "Don’t touch me. I'm done with all of this. Done with both of you." 

A noise of exasperation came from Jensen. "You need to take it easy, Jared. Let me help. Let me take you home and then I’ll explain everything, ok?"

"Only way you can help is by telling me the truth. No, wait, it doesn’t matter, because you're leaving town. Right, Jensen? Your case is done and there is nothing to keep you here." 

The older man ran a hand down his face. "Couldn't tell you any of this. We had a lot of people on this, risking their lives working with us and Treasury, and I couldn’t blow all of that. Hell, Dani, they almost capped you tonight and for what?"

She looked pissed. "I swear, Jensen, they didn’t know anything. I think they were just getting desperate to find something and I just happened to be in the wrong spot at the wrong time. That's all. And now it's all blown to hell and Alaina is gone. She's probably heading for Chicago right now and I doubt we see her again."

Jared reached for the door handle leading back to the club, hanging his head in exhaustion. He would find Genevieve and Chad, and make sure she got home safely, and then he was going to go back to his aunt’s place, sleep for the next twelve hours and then take a seriously long look at his life choices so far.


	6. Chapter 6

JD looked sternly at Jared across the desk. While he thought that the excitement of the evening and his description of the incident last night would be right up his editor's alley, Jared was dead wrong. 

"I'm not running it." JD tapped his knuckles on the wood desktop. 

"What do you mean? Not to be a jackass, but it's a great piece, JD. Are you afraid that the FBI will come around, asking a few questions? C'mon, you can handle that." Jared wanted the story to be told, how these gangsters could ruin people's lives in a single moment without rhyme or reason. Of course, he had to remove any reference to Jensen's identity or his role as a federal agent (and their relationship, of course) but there was plenty of detail for another juicy story.

"You just don't get it, kid. Yeah, it's a good piece, but I’m not going to print it. Based on what you told me, this person -- this gangster -- knows who you are and where you work. Fuck the pseudonym -- that’s not going to protect you. What this story tells them is that you aren’t afraid to talk about the truth of what happened to you, and that you don't have a problem naming names."

Jared scrunched up his nose. "Well, yeah, of course I'm going to write about what happened. You always say to tell the truth of the story. That's what I did."

JD ran a hand down his face, and then let out a sigh as he looked across the desk. "Don't you have any sense of self preservation, boy? We publish this and these people know that you're willing to talk about it to the public, to the cops, then I might as well paint a bullseye on your chest and wait to dig your grave."

After sleeping twelve hours, Jared had stumbled into the newsroom that afternoon still emotionally exhausted from the night before but able to crank out a 1,000-word article about the club and the events in the alleyway. It was the first article that he was truly proud of. The words helped to strip off some of the pretty silver-flake of the speakeasies to show that dark underbelly to the citizens of New York, many of whom chose to ignore it as they sat isolated, walled and protected in their apartments, away from the back rooms and the business done there.

This was the kind of writing that any reporter would dream of, where it would make an impact on its readers, not simply paint a pretty picture, and it felt like he was giving it up without a fight.

"JD, if you're concerned about me, don't be. Alaina and her muscle have left town. They are hundreds of miles away from here. Besides if you really want to do something about the hypocrisy of prohibition, you should run this story... Or maybe you're afraid for yourself?"

JD's mouth tightened up and he sat up in his chair. "I think you need to get out of my office. What I'm afraid of is that I might pop you in the mouth for being such an ass."

Walking back out into the bullpen, Jared made a mental note to apologize to JD tomorrow after he cooled off. Genevieve and Chad looked up at him, all innocent eyes and big ears.

"How about a drink, guys? I know the perfect place."

\----

When the three of them walked into Sam’s, the first thing they saw was some guy nursing a beer at the counter. His head was hung low, probably crying into his Pabst over his girl or his job. They settled in at the other end away from the sad-sack drunk.

"Ok, so what did you say to JD?" Genevieve shook her head, flipping her dark hair over her shoulders and laughed. "He looked pissed. And you? You never stand up to him like that."

Chad clapped him on the shoulder. "Doesn't matter. My boy got it done. Another big story. I should hate you for that, pal, because now the bar is set really high for the rest of us."

"You write sports updates, idiot, but thanks, I think." Jared looked fondly between the two, glad for once not to be alone, and glad not to be thinking about Jensen and whether he was already on his way back to Washington.

Gen's laugh drew Sam out of the back room. "Nice to hear someone having fun." She tilted her head to the guy at the end of the bar and spoke in a low voice. "He's been nursing that same beer for over an hour. What do you guys want to order?"

Chad rubbed his hands together. "Two whiskeys and a Tom Collins for the lady."

Once Sam set the drinks down in front of them, Jared caught her eye and nodded towards the couch in the back. As they sat back against the velvet pillows, she took his hand. "I know what you're going to say."

"You do?"

"A little bird came by first thing this morning and told me all about your adventures."

Jensen was here on his block, not 100 yards away from where Jared was sleeping in his bed, his dreams anxious and sweaty about the two of them, and yet he didn’t care enough to come to see Jared.

"What did he say?"

Sam frowned. "He said he was sorry for everything and that he needs to head out to Washington today."

Jared didn't need for Jensen to be sorry. What Jared needed was for Jensen to want to stay, but why would he stick around for the mess that was between them now.

After a few more rounds, Gen and Chad headed out, leaving Jared to walk down the block, lost in his thoughts about his next assignment as Best Boy. While JD loved the stories and it was selling papers, Jared needed to do something different. The editor wouldn’t be happy, but first thing Monday, he would talk to him about working another desk. Even writing the police blotter would be less stressful than this. Hell, he would rather write those businessman obits than go to another speakeasy club.

Jared started up the steps to the brownstone when a man called out to him from the bottom of the stoop, and he turned, expecting to see Chad, looking for a partner in crime for the night. He sighed, wishing for nothing more than the softness of his bed and a few snuggles and snores from Hem.

Instead, he was surprised to see the sad-sack guy crying over his drink at Sam's place. Jared didn’t know the guy, but maybe he was looking for help or a handout. Given the stock market crash and the general economic slow-down, it wasn’t unheard of. But the look on this guy’s face was transformed, no longer pathetic, but with feral eyes and jawline clenched. Jared only had a moment to be confused before the man pulled out a Colt revolver that looked more like a family antique then a weapon. The words he spoke were no joke.

"Alaina sends her regards." 

The first shot hit his left shoulder with enough force to spin him around and the front of his head smacked the wrought iron railing. There was nothing in the entryway to defend himself and nowhere to run. A second shot tore through his knee, as Jared grasped the iron spindle in front of him, thinking he could pull himself up and fight, but the pain was blinding and he felt himself sinking down into darkness on the steps, as he waited for some kind of final shot. 

"Nooooo, Jared!" He was already losing consciousness when he heard running footsteps and another volley of gunshots, but none seemed to hit him. The sound of that familiar voice stirred him, but not enough to keep him from sinking in the black.

\---

The smell of lavender reminded him of the field behind their house growing up. Their house was surrounded by wheat fields, but his mother always grew a patch of lavender and herbs for cooking. He would climb the big oak tree at the edge of this patch, always out of sight of their father who would disapprove of such childish antics.

When he was eight and thought he was unstoppable, Jared fell out of one of the high branches. His mother had gone to town and his brothers were off playing with their friends, and Jared had climbed up into the tallest branches with a book to read far from piano lessons and bible verses. He fell asleep that day in the shady fork of the tree and lost his balance. He could still remember the thrill that went through his body in the short time it took to hit the ground, almost as if he was flying. 

The moment after he struck the ground, Jared knew he was in trouble. That momentary thrill was not worth this pain.

He carried his arm carefully all the way home, but sharp pain kept shooting up his shoulder, and while he was trying to be a big boy like his brothers had always told him to be, tears kept rolling down his face. 

The discomfort from his shoulder slowly brought him into consciousness, but he continued to smell lavender though it was only infused in the soft cotton sheets rubbing against his cheek. This was just a dream, but the pain seemed real enough as he tried to roll on his back and a deep ache in his shoulder and pain shot up his leg like lightning striking a tree.

"Jared, just relax. Don’t move." A firm hand held his chest down, staying away from his bandaged shoulder. "Please, the doctor said you need rest."

When he finally opened his eyes, his view was filled with Jensen’s eyes, which were soft with concern. He shook his head again, thinking he had only moved from one dream to another, but over Jensen's shoulders he caught a glimpse of Sam standing behind him, her hands clutching a tray. A warm tongue licked his right hand and he looked down to see Hem snuggled into bed next to him.

"We didn't know if you'd wake up."

"What happened?" He eased himself out from under Jensen's hold to sit up against the pillows. "I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

Jared rub the knot on his forehead, his skin bright with pain to the touch. He remembered a stranger on the sidewalk. “Who was that guy?"

Jensen and Sam exchanged a look before he answered, and Sam put the tray down on the side table before leaving, pulling the sliding doors to the bedroom together behind her. "Just some neighborhood guy, a nobody who owed Alaina money. She called in a favor before leaving town. Apparently, she can hold a grudge. He's been sulking around Sam's, hoping you would show up. You were the one person on her list that she knew she could get to."

Jared ran his fingers through his hair, holding it back from his face. "Did he get away or did the police catch him?" He was so tired in that moment. A chain of circumstance and meetings had led him here. The mix of amazing and awful that made up his life in the last two weeks was too much for him to deal with. 

Jensen looked stricken for a moment, but the openness of his face slammed closed like a door. "He would have killed you, so I had to take care of it."

Jared would have been dead on his stoop if not for Jensen. "Then it's over, right?"

Jensen pulled up a chair next to the bed. “For now. Alaina and her man were caught on the road to Chicago. They should have bigger fish to fry for the time being."

“So, what happens next?”

“I need to leave for Washington tonight. What I told you before wasn’t a lie, I will be getting a new assignment and leaving New York. After speaking to Sam earlier, I realized it wouldn’t be right if I left without seeing you. Telling you a few things.”

Laying back on the pillows, Jared didn’t speak up as if to said a word would change the older man’s mind. It took everything in him not to respond when all he wanted was to beg him not to leave.

“I’m the one that caused all of this.”

Jared looked up in confusion. “Why would you say that? You couldn’t have known that guy was going to shoot me.”

“Being undercover in my job means I run into the worst kind of criminals, and I’m ok with that. There’s only me, so if anything happens, it’s no big deal.”

“It would be a big deal to me.”

Jensen rubbed his face, and Jared noticed how tired he looked, as if he hadn’t slept at all last night. He reached out and took Jensen’s fingers in his hand.

“Jared, you have to understand, that despite all the horrible people I deal with, the corrupt cops and lawyers, that I love my job. I love making a difference and putting away people like Alaina and her partners.”

“Because of your brother? The one who died?” Jared prodded when Jensen stopped for a moment at a loss for words.

“Yes, it’s for my brother, but it’s also to do some good. This is the one thing I can do. But I can’t expect anyone to stick around while I disappear for weeks at a time. I can’t put someone else’s life in danger like I did this time.” 

He pulled his hand back out from Jared’s fingers. “It’s just not going to work for us. You deserve a clean break from all of this.”

He watched Jensen stand up and walk out through the bedroom doors, before rolling over on his side. Hem snuggled in a little closer, licking his fingers gently, and wiggling his head under Jared’s hand where he could stroke his head. In the hallway, he heard Jensen talk to Sam, their murmuring indistinct as he closed his eyes.


	7. Epilogue

Jared took a moment on the sidewalk to look at the white lights that twinkled through the window in Sam's place. The small sparkles made him smile, a welcome reminder that Christmas was coming. 

His day was long and spent interviewing a reclusive author about his new book. The man was severely agoraphobic and insisted that they meet at his Brooklyn home, and the publisher was so eager to get a review from Titan's new book editor that they sent a car service to ferry him back and forth. The author was a genius, but the dark interior of the house and the cherrywood smoke from his pipe had the reporter eager to leave and be in the fresh air after just a few hours.

Jared glanced down the street to his own dark and quiet brownstone. His aunt was back in Europe again. Hemingway was probably sitting on the window seat eagerly awaiting his return, but he could wait just a little while longer. Jared couldn't face the emptiness just yet. 

As he opened the door to Sam's place, he was hit by a wall of warm air.

"Sam, how many logs do you have in that fireplace? It's burning up in here." The brunette popped up from her usual spot behind the bar, with a frown.

"It's Christmas time, honey. Yule logs, chestnuts, eggnog... Remember holiday fun?"

Jared was in the little bar at least twice a week, hanging out with Sam. Slowly, the “clubs” were becoming “bars” and neighborhood hang-outs, rather than the new and shiny attractions they once were. He would help Sam with any work or talk with a few of the regulars, but most of the time he spent with his nose in the latest novel, drinking coffee while Hemingway slept under his barstool. Sam tolerated the bulldog because most of the time she forgot he was there, except when his snores got so loud. It wasn’t the dog that made Sam crazy, but more the fact that Jared didn't drink much anymore that seemed like a personal affront to her.

Writing the book review section of the paper certainly didn't have the glamour of covering speakeasies but working with authors and publishers made Jared happy. After the incident with Alaina and the attempt on his life, JD gave him a few weeks off. Instead, he returned two days later, requesting to move to a different desk and his editor couldn't deny him. He turned over entertainment coverage to Genevieve, who relished in the spotlight of premieres and club openings. She tried to cajole her friend to accompany her at events rather than spend his time curled up in his wing chair with a good book and a fat dog.

Sam reached for a plate of sugar cookies in the shape of stars -- their thick white frosting dusted with silver sprinkles -- that sat in the middle of the wooden bar and held it up for Jared's inspection. "I made these special for you today. Big day at the office, huh?"

Today was a big day, not only at the paper, but throughout the country. He avoided all the hoopla and political speeches by holing up with the author in Brooklyn today, but picked up a copy of the paper, which he threw down for Sam to see, spinning it around, so she could read the 72 pt Helvetica headline

"Prohibition Repealed."

“So, how does it feel to be legal, Sam? You still going to bake me cookies if you can just sell me a drink?" He flipped the paper back around as he sat down at his usual stool.

"I will always bake cookies for you, honey." Sam smiled at him and glanced around at the four patrons sitting around the tables. "Got to admit, I'm a little surprised that more people aren't out tonight. I thought that the place would be packed after the news today for sure."

"Yeah, well, I hear that everyone is taking President Roosevelt's address today to heart. We're all responsible drinkers here in New York. At least until next Friday night." He winked at Sam and took a seat.

The door to the bar opened behind him with a gust of cold air, and he saw Sam look up and give a nod, before someone covered up his eyes from behind, leather gloves smooth against his eyelids.

“Let me guess. You’re waiting to meet someone special tonight.” The voice was low and gravelly, and did something to Jared’s heart every time he heard it.

“I am. I’m waiting for my boyfriend to get back from a trip. He’s a very important agent with the FBI, so I don’t think you want to mess with him.”

The hands came down and lips kissed the back of his neck. “Your hair’s getting long.”

“Well, my boyfriend seems to like it.” Jared spun around on the stool, and the sight of Jensen took his breath away as it did every time he saw him. “So, how did it go?”

“They offered me the agent-in-charge job for the San Francisco office. Big promotion, nice cushy office.”

“So, what did you say?”

“No, said my partner has a great job and we like New York. Gonna take some time off and stick around, if you don’t mind.”

After all the assignments and trips, after all the times they came together and broke apart in the last year, this was exactly what Jared wanted. A chance for the two of them to see if they worked together in real life. 

“Why don’t we head home and get a head start on that time off then?”

**Author's Note:**

> While I am fascinated by this era of American history, I don’t claim to be an expert and took a few liberties in terms of storytelling, but tried to incorporate some details and language from that time. The idea of reporters reviewing speakeasies and using pen names actually happened at _The New Yorker_ and that idea inspired this fic. If you are interested, check out Ken Burns’ documentary Prohibition.
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr at [wetsammywinchester](http://wetsammywinchester.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [SPN_J2_BigBang 2016 Art Masterpost: Bright Lights and Whiskey Kisses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476276) by [Mangacat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangacat/pseuds/Mangacat)




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